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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172426">no sunshine where i was before</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjdsjmlyx/pseuds/cjdsjmlyx'>cjdsjmlyx</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/illujeon/pseuds/illujeon'>illujeon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exorcisms, Family Dynamics, Heavy Angst, Kiyoomi is painfully whipped, M/M, POV Multiple, Petty Jiang Cheng, Protective Miya Osamu, Slow Burn, Wangji is painfully whipped, Will add more tags as we go, gays solving mysteries, lots of deaths, temporary major character death, the twins have potty mouths, the violence tag applies to one or more chapters, this is us trying to give yunmeng twin heroes the closure they deserve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:20:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>44,565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172426</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjdsjmlyx/pseuds/cjdsjmlyx, https://archiveofourown.org/users/illujeon/pseuds/illujeon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Second Siege at the Burial Mounds never happened. Lan Wangji ascended to godhood, hurt and still longing for the Yiling Patriarch to come back to him. Wei Wuxian's slumber would continue for more than 13 years. 13 lifecycles. </p><p>Sakusa Kiyoomi always thought of himself as lucky. A prominent cultivator of a prominent sect that ascended up to godhood as his first life. Retaining memories of his past 12 lives. His first predecessor guiding him as he stumbled his way through the 13th cycle as a famed exorcist, on his way to godhood for the 13th time as well. He's lucky to have come this far. </p><p>Until Miya Atsumu came into the picture. He fell out of his axis and for his greatest love for the first time. Again. </p><p>Or</p><p>The Wangxian-Sakuatsu reincarnation brainrot we never knew we needed.</p><p>[update every two weeks]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jiang Cheng &amp; Wei Wuxian, Komori Motoya &amp; Sakusa Kiyoomi, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén &amp; Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Miya Atsumu &amp; Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, implied Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, implied nié huáisāng/jiāng chéng</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After 13 lifetimes, Lan Wangji was born into Sakusa Kiyoomi, an exorcist with a promising future since his knowledge with exorcism came from 12 lifetimes of experience. He does what he has always done with his past lives; guide them into godhood. Everything was the same as it is from his past lives, until Sakusa had a not-so-nice encounter with a loud and obnoxious exorcist who was the complete opposite of him. Normally, it would have him hoping that the two of them never meet again, but it’s different this time. This time, he realizes, the man is the reincarnate of Wei Wuxian, the one whose soul and body he thought he has lost 13 lives ago. It would have been easy to approach the man and tell him so, but it turns out things are even more complicated than he thought.</p><p>Miya Atsumu is gifted with talent ever since he was born, and he is even more grateful to have Osamu by his side (even though Osamu seems to always want to strangle Atsumu all the time for reasons <em>unknown)</em>. He’s grateful with his life; beyond contented, even. At least that’s what he tells himself until he encountered an uptight exorcist. It’s nothing out of the unusual; his profession is full of people with sticks up their asses. But the mixture of sadness, longing, and relief is even more overwhelming than the ghosts he was paid to exorcise. </p><p>Miya Osamu, unlike his twin, has always known who Atsumu is—or rather, <em>was</em>, in their past lives. How can he forget the brother that was also the reason of his family’s downfall? How can he forget the brother he saved from death 13 lifetimes ago? He thought he would never meet him again, if the news of his soul being nowhere to be found was any indication. But the jokes on him, the bitterness and resentment of being left alone sits heavy upon his person. Will the affection Osamu has for his brother outweigh the resentment Jiang Cheng has for Wei Wuxian?</p><p>Somehow Nie Huaisang was born into Suna Rintarou who happen to be an even more annoying and clever little shit than he was. Meeting his long-lost best friend in the body of Miya Atsumu, he thinks that it’s time he finally plays matchmaker, all the while dragging Osamu with his plan. But of course, shit goes down with that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi!! this fic was born out of countless screaming abt wangxian and sakuatsu's dynamics and the authors have no idea what they're doing 90% of the time so expect a lot of chaos :D</p><p>there will be more characters and fucked up relationships in future chapters so stay tuned!</p><p>also: our knowledge about exorcisms and the like are from internet sources and some are made-up lol there will be lots of inaccuracies. we apologize in advance for those</p><p>scream at/with us on twitter!! <a href="https://twitter.com/cirquedeluna">cirquedeluna</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lanistowei">lanistowei</a><br/>for questions, clarifications, and violent reactions, hit us (mostly solera) up on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/cirquedeluna">cc</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kiyoomi probably is the luckiest exorcist to ever exist. His family never fails to tell him so every chance they get. Not much can be done once the life of exorcism chooses you, and his life happens to be tied to a unique story.</p><p>He learned about this complicated concept at the tender age of 7, barely coherent with his words. Apparently, having an adult man with long silky hair wearing pure white robes <em>hover</em> around him in most of his waking hours is out of ordinary. He was at the garden at that time, being introduced to his mother’s sister and her son, a cousin he never met before but would soon be a huge part of his life. </p><p>“Hi, Kiyoomi!” his cousin—his mother told him his name is Motoya—greeted energetically. He waved his hand, wide grin indicating that he’s the least bothered about missing two of his front teeth. </p><p>Before Kiyoomi even got to greet back, Motoya suddenly folded his arms in front of him and bowed down, a formal bend of 90 degrees towards Kiyoomi. “Hanguang-Jun,” he said, the excitement in his voice from before replaced with gallantry.</p><p>If Kiyoomi was surprised, their mothers were even more dumbfounded, but their surprises go unnoticed with the two boys continuing their conversation. “You can see him?” he asked the other instead. </p><p>Motoya was back to smiling at him. “Nope. But he can,” he pointed to an empty space beside him. Kiyoomi’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?” he said dumbly, turning to the man on his right to ask for guidance.</p><p>Lan Wangji, whose name he only knew a year before when he bothered to ask, simply returned the formal greeting. “Zewu-Jun,” he addressed to the space beside Motoya in a tone that told Kiyoomi he should do the same, and so Kiyoomi did.</p><p>“Zewu-Jun,” he greeted back, copying the perfect bow Lan Wangji demonstrated for him. Motoya smiled even impossibly wider. He turned to his stunned mother whose mind was probably running at a thousand thoughts per minute. “They’re brothers!” he pointed out to his poor mother who looked like a breath away from passing out.</p><p>That was when two of the most prominent exorcists in Tokyo came into existence. </p><p>Apparently, Lan Wangji, with the title Hanguang-Jun that means “Bearer of Light” and birth name Lan Zhan, was a prominent cultivator of his time, the other half of the Twin Jades from the GusuLan sect; and Kiyoomi is his 13th reincarnate. The other half of the Twin Jades was Lan Xichen, with the title Zewu-Jun that means “Chancellor of Morning Sun” and birth name Lan Huan. Motoya is his 13th reincarnate too, bringing the two of them closer than the bond of blood they share. </p><p>At the age of 10, Kiyoomi woke up to indescribable pain on his left chest and on his back, but the most unbearable one was in his heart, as if something was physically ripping every vein and artery away from the organ. His parents woke up to his screams, rushing to his room to see him writhing in agony among his blood-soaked blanket. They immediately called for Motoya to check up on his cousin since they thought there was no way that was not related to spirits and exorcisms. Xichen and Wangji talked, and Motoya relayed to Kiyoomi’s parents the ordeal to quell their worries.</p><p>“Those are soulmate marks,” Wangji explained to him once he has calmed down. The bleeding has mostly stopped, the wounds only slightly stinging as they scrape along the newly applied bandages. It did not explain the weird longing and hurt he felt earlier.</p><p>Before he got to ask his god about it, Wangji suddenly stood in front of him. “Pardon me,” he said softly before removing the belt of his outer robe. Kiyoomi panicked for a bit, only relaxing when Wangji spread the lapels of his inner robe to reveal a scar. It was the same as the one on his left chest, a wound that looked like it came from an iron brand with a sun’s crest. Kiyoomi unconsciously brought a hand to his chest, as Wangji removed both his inner and outer robes off his shoulder, turning his back to Kiyoomi. His back was as pristine as his face, truly living up to be the other half of a jade, save for the several white scars that definitely came from heavy lashings. </p><p>Kiyoomi winced, the pain on his back throbbed as if he went through the pain of the whipping himself (technically, <em>he</em> did). He was itching to ask how his god managed to acquire such grave wounds, but in the end thought to drop it when he saw melancholy and vulnerability on Wangji’s face as he put his robes back on. He nodded in understanding, not fully knowing what Wangji meant when he said ‘soulmate marks’.</p><p>For the next few months, it was Motoya who tended to his wounds. Spending a lot of time with someone like that is bound to result in a friendship that was so unbreakable that it ventured brotherhood. </p><p>They both went to the same private grade school for exorcists, almost attached to the hip since Kiyoomi had trouble going along with other kids their age. When they finished grade school, they both went to Itachiyama Institute of Exorcism, the best one Tokyo has to offer. The school had a lot of promising talents, but nothing beats the Twin Jades who were known to be powerful throughout all their reincarnates that basic information about their lives were even taught during their History classes. </p><p>Honestly speaking, Wangji’s spiritual powers were potent enough in Kiyoomi as if they were his own that he could conduct exorcisms without having to learn in school how. And though it is Wangji’s duty to guide his reincarnate ascend into godhood, much like what he has done for the lives before Kiyoomi, special exorcism schools offer trainings to further hone an exorcist’s extraordinary skill. Undeniably, the retained memories of 12 lifetimes before him helped a lot, but grace and elegance are not hereditary.</p><p>By the time he and Motoya graduated, they’re already a pair of 18-year-olds who had immortals beside them as their guides and whose names were already known in all of Tokyo. They both decided to work under the Higher Council of Exorcists, a systematic organization based in Tokyo that deals with everything supernatural and was more than happy to have the two as part of their team. The gist was simple, the organization would receive the reports of any spiritual distress, and exorcists would be sent to investigate or, occasionally, perform an exorcism to dispel whatever evil there is in that area.</p><p>At the start, the two worked together, refusing to exorcise individually. They’re stronger together, what’s the point of doing it alone? But Motoya, much like the god he’s a reincarnate of, took a position amongst the superiors of the organization. He actually managed to keep it from Kiyoomi, or at least he thought he did. He forgot that Wangji and Xichen can <em>communicate</em> with each other, and by the time he mustered up enough courage to tell his cousin, he only gave him the blankest look and a shrug. “I knew right from the start, though. Hanguang-Jun and I talk, too.”</p><p>Anyways, four years later finds them in front of an old museum seated at the corner of a bustling street in Himeji City. The owner of the museum sent a report yesterday about a strange phenomena involving the museum’s artifacts, around two instruments in particular. </p><p>Kiyoomi rolls his eyes as Motoya sips obnoxiously loud the last of his pearls, shaking the empty bottle just to rile up his cousin more before throwing it to the nearby trash can. “Let’s go?” he asks Kiyoomi, wearing a grin that means trouble.</p><p>“What is it?” Kiyoomi asks. He can <em>feel</em> that Motoya knows something that he doesn’t. He considers that it’s something that Xichen and Motoya have been talking about, and almost turns to his right instinctively to ask his god. He stops himself though, since he woke up without the god by his bedside like usual. Ever since he started to perform exorcisms by himself, Wangji goes to the higher realm without so much as a notice for Kiyoomi, trusting Kiyoomi to handle himself. The mortal assumed he’s going godly duties and went on, getting used to not having the god beside him 24/7 unlike how he lived all his life.</p><p>Motoya laughs as he pushes open one side of the double doors, not even the least perturbed by the squeaking that echoes beyond them as he does. Still with the grin Kiyoomi is starting to hate, he feigns innocence and asks back, “What is what?”</p><p>He is not given any time to push Motoya to tell him what he knows because a man, presumably Kushida-san, their client, is rushing towards them not even ten seconds after they went in.</p><p>“Thank gods, ya finally came!” he almost cries out, the toupee atop his head slightly askew from stress. The two look at each other, and while Kiyoomi has always been good at pretending to be expressionless, Motoya barely suppresses a giggle. Thankfully, the man is too stressed out to notice.</p><p>He wipes at his forehead, then takes a good look at the two of them again. Recognition flashes in his eyes. “I can’t believe the two of ya arrived earlier than the others,” he mutters more to himself, but Kiyoomi catches it otherwise.</p><p>“‘Others? What—” before Kiyoomi got to finish his question, the three of them turn towards the door, where a loud bickering could be heard.</p><p>“I toldja to turn to left and I was right!”</p><p>“Well, if yer so good, then ya should’ve drove us instead, ya turd!”</p><p>“Don’t call me turd, ya dickhead!”</p><p>“Shut up or I’ll make sure I leave a fine imprint of my soles on both of your asses.”</p><p>Kiyoomi unconsciously holds his breath as the doors open, attention fully on the three figures coming in that he does not notice the knowing look Motoya (and consequently Xichen) is giving him. </p><p>“Hey. Sorry we’re late. We got lost,” the tallest one tells Kushida, not even <em>sounding </em>sorry, but that’s far from their client’s concern. The other two behind him are still throwing insults like two grade school kids, but at least they had the decency to minimize their volume. They become quiet as soon as the three of them are standing a few meters away from the other three initially present.</p><p>Kiyoomi observes. He always does whenever he’s in an unfamiliar situation, such as this one. The tallest of the three had dark hair and eyes that look like he’s on the highest magnitude of boredom. The other two had identical faces, but they can be easily distinguished by their hair. </p><p>Inarizaki High’s pride, the Miya twins.</p><p>Every year back in high school, different exorcism schools around Japan would send their best students to an event. They would go to an untouched mountain, competing who gets the most yokais to exorcise. It’s meant to be a friendly competition, testing their camaraderie and letting them learn various techniques and skills from other exorcists; but Kiyoomi has always thought the schools are only puffing their chests out, bragging to see who’s the best. Itachiyama Institute has the Twin Jades, which decidedly secures their spot as one of the top schools in all of Japan, but Inarizaki High of Hyogo prefecture has proved to be great competitors with the twins that managed to best them. </p><p>They did not interact much all throughout the competition, only during the awkward handshakes at the end of the event when either one of the two schools was proclaimed to be the champion. Nothing much has changed about them, Kiyoomi realizes. The once-bleached gray hair of one of them is now cut short, kept underneath a dark cap, but expressions still bore the same impassive front. The other who had bright blond mop that hurt the eyes and an annoying smug look that could prompt a punch or two in the face now sports a faded color of the dye and an annoyingly handsome smirk.</p><p>
  <em>Woah, wait. Where did that come from?</em>
</p><p>He thanks the gods for making it a routine for him to wear a mask, because there is no way no one would not notice the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Uh, what is going on here?” to clear his head from such thoughts (they’re on a mission, for gods’ sakes. He can’t afford to waste time ogling beautiful men right now. -Maybe next time though-) Kiyoomi instead asks their client who claps his hands once in delight. </p><p>“Alright, first off, I’m Kushida Yasumichi, and ‘tis museum’s my baby,” he gestures a big hand around them as an introduction. He grins with pride, like he’s one of those circus masters prior to a great performance. However, the smile falls off his face just as quickly as it appeared.</p><p> “I first contacted you,” he points to the three still unnamed people, “but I figured ya may need backup for this one. That’s why I called to yer agency,” he then addresses Kiyoomi and Motoya. He puts his fingers on his chin. “Honestly, I’m kinda surprised they sent the best ones ‘ere when they told me they just hafta investigate, but I’m glad. I’m sure ya haven’t seen a spirit as <em>evil</em> as this one,” he seethes at the last part of his sentence.</p><p>Kiyoomi’s face heats up in embarrassment, knowing full well that Motoya is dying to laugh out loud beside him at having been somewhat caught. Sure, the organization was supposed to send some amateur exorcists since investigation is simple enough for them as their first mission, but something—said <em>thing</em> comes in the form of an immortal clad in white robes and is named Lan Wangji—tugs at him to take the job that he practically dragged Motoya to the earliest train ride the next day. Kiyoomi did not ask any questions, fully trusting his god, not expecting him to vanish the next day. His god is infuriating at times, and Kiyoomi gives no shit whether his god could hear his ill thoughts about him or not.</p><p>“No exorcisms should be taken lightly. This one is just as important as any other we have performed in the past,” Kiyoomi says in an attempt to convince himself as well that this is just any other mission, that he did not accept this mission because of a gut feeling. </p><p>Kiyoomi mentally pats himself on the back. It sounds convincing enough, and he’s sure Motoya is having a blast as well. He thinks the topic is finally dropped now, but one of the twins, the contradiction of annoying and gorgeous one, suddenly laughs out loud.</p><p>“‘Samu! I wasn’t informed we’re goin’ to work with Mr. Goody-two-shoes over here,” he says with a smirk.</p><p>Kiyoomi scowls. "Okay, and? Did you have to be such an infuriatingly attractive moron while dropping your unsolicited opinions?"</p><p>That’s what he would have said if only he had enough courage. But, alas, he is a weak man who could only be brave for so long before someone <em>like that </em>comes tumbling into his life. Their conversation ends with Kiyoomi’s scoff, regretting the loss of a good comeback.</p><p>As if sensing his cousin’s dilemma, Motoya steps up and reaches out a hand. “Komori Motoya. Nice to make your acquaintances,” he introduces himself. </p><p>The tallest one is the first to accept the handshake. “Suna Rintarou.” Motoya nods, taking the hand of the second one. “Miya Osamu,” he says, voice as uninterested as Suna but is not short of respect. Motoya takes the last hand stretched out to him. “Miya Atsumu,” he says. </p><p><em>Miya Atsumu</em>. Kiyoomi takes note of that, though he’s certain he does not need remembering if the name would not even leave his mind in the first place.</p><p>The three look at Kiyoomi expectantly. “Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he mutters. Fortunately, his voice sounds the same as it was before, but he can still somehow feel like Atsumu is laughing at him. </p><p>Both Rintarou and Osamu pause for a moment, seemingly listening to their gods. After a while, they both place their arms in front of them, bowing. “Zewu-Jun,” they say simultaneously. Atsumu lags for a few seconds before copying the other two.</p><p>Without Wangji by his side, Kiyoomi can empathize with the normal humans. It does look silly talking to air.</p><p>Motoya hums. “This is a <em>really </em>interesting encounter,” he says ambiguously.</p><p>He returns the greeting to Suna, bowing as he says, “Nie-gongzi.” He then turns his bow to Osamu. “Jiang-gongzi.” Motoya glances at Kiyoomi, prompting him to do the same. He finds it weird that only the two were addressed, but stays quiet since he does not have his god at the moment to answer his questions. </p><p>Osamu straightens up, listening to his god once more. “We only have one of the Twin Jades right now?” he asks, turning to look at Kiyoomi. </p><p>Kiyoomi blinks. “Yes. He appears to have some… <em>business</em> in the heavenly realms.” It’s better than <em>I actually have no idea where he goes when he does, really. </em>Osamu nods, throwing a fleeting glance at Atsumu. No one notices it. </p><p>Kushida claps his hand once more, gaining all of their attention. “Now that yer all introduced to one another, I s’pose it’s time I take ya to the reason I called ya?” not waiting for any reply, he trudges on to the interior of the museum. He does not even look back to check if the exorcists are following him.</p><p>They all pass by various exhibits, most of which are encased in glass boxes, and Kiyoomi notes that most of them are ancient musical instruments. He recognizes some, like the koto and the taiko drums, but there are some that are unfamiliar. He stops in front of one that looks foreign, reading the information placard below it. </p><p>“Geomungo. A Korean long board zither. I heard t’was an instrument used for cultivation, like the Chinese <em>guqin</em>, and it’s rarely seen or heard of nowadays,” a voice startles him. He straightens up to look at Atsumu with one of his eyebrows raised and the seemingly-permanent smirk on his lips. Kiyoomi regards him for a second and curses himself once again for it because <em>godsdamn he’s so annoyingly gorgeous I want to crush his pretty head then kiss it afterwards. </em></p><p>Kiyoomi clenches his hands at his sides. He <em>really</em> should not think about such things right now. “Mn,” Kiyoomi hums in acknowledgement, turning back to follow the group a few steps away from them. Atsumu follows behind him, and Kiyoomi tries so hard not to squirm under the stare the other is definitely giving him.</p><p>“Didn’t expect ya t’be the kinda guy that’s interested in music, Miya-san,” their client addresses as he turns around a corner. </p><p>Atsumu breathes out a small laugh. “I think they’re kinda interestin’,” he says simply.</p><p>“Ya don’t say. Ya don’t even own one, yet ya stay up all night watchin’ those damn videos ‘bout other people playin’, and ya don’t use fuckin’ earphones while at it. Ya have a roommate, y’know,” Osamu complains, glaring for a moment at Atsumu behind him. Kiyoomi almost let out a laugh.</p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Samu.”</p><p>“Ya shut the fuck up, Tsumu.”</p><p>“And ‘ere we are!” Kushida calls out loudly, effectively cutting off the twin’s banter. </p><p>They all stop in front of an exhibit off to the corner, a heavy and dark cloth covering it. A cheap talisman is pasted at the center, used to temporarily hold off the <em>thing</em> inside, preventing anyone from the outside to look at what is inside. </p><p>But most importantly, it also prevents whatever is inside to sense what is outside. </p><p>“Y’see, this museum’s been passed down to me. A family heirloom, if you will. And for generations, nothin’ this weird has ever happened before, at least none that I know of. As ya can see around ya are all musical instruments,” he says, pausing dramatically to look at all their faces. Rintarou, Osamu, and Atsumu look mildly bored, Motoya looks intrigued, and Kiyoomi looks strangely interested.</p><p>Kushida inhales. “But these,” he places his hand on top of the exhibit. “<em>These two’ve been playin’ by themselves fer almost two decades now.”</em></p><p>He removes the cover, taking away the poorly made talisman with it. </p><p>Kiyoomi freezes. </p><p>Inside are two instruments indeed, one a Chinese zither called <em>guqin</em> and the other a flute, both with the color of a moonless night. But that is not the reason Kiyoomi’s world stopped. Not at all.</p><p>It’s because the instruments are playing a rather <em>familiar</em> melody, one of which tells a story of love and longing.</p><p>The instruments are playing “Wuji”.</p><p>Kiyoomi did not even realize that Wangji is already beside him, struck dumbfounded as him, since he looks at Atsumu who is similarly holding his own breath.</p><p>And then, he recognizes.</p>
<hr/><p>Atsumu knows that he is a special case in the world of exorcism.</p><p>To be honest, everyone, himself included, thought he <em>wouldn’t </em>even<em> have </em>the life of an exorcist. He was 10 years old when he first performed an exorcism all by himself.</p><p>He doesn’t remember much, but he knows that his twin brother has been isolated from him for two days because he got sick. Annoyed that he has no one to play catch with, he decided to go to the room where Osamu was staying. Hiding behind the wall at the corner, he waited and listened in on his parents’ conversation.</p><p>“But we’ve gone to all clinics and hospitals ‘ere, and all of ‘em told us there’s nothin’ wrong with ‘im,” he Atsumu heard his mother’s pained voice through the door.</p><p>“I don’t think medicine could help ‘im. Should we call fer a shaman?” he heard his father say, the sound of a door being pulled open following it. </p><p>The sounds of footsteps fading told Atsumu that the coast was clear, so he sneaked into Osamu’s room with the reflexes of a ten-year-old, which really wasn’t much, but it did made him feel invincible.</p><p>He slowly pulled the door to the side, and as he peaked in, the air that greeted him was so oppressive, he felt his knees weaken.</p><p>“Wha…?” he whispered to himself, struggling to stand back up. He could see a lump underneath the thick blanket which he assumed was his brother, and above him was a thick and dark cloud <em>pressing down</em>.</p><p>A ghost.</p><p>The twins were no strangers to ghosts or spirits. Growing up in an rural area, usually surrounded by trees and mountains, it really wasn’t a surprise that a lot of unrested spirits resided there. Plus, Osamu has this <em>thing</em> he does where the spirits disappeared from a “hand seal” he said he learned from his god (<em>“that’s weird, people don’t see gods” “yer the weird one if ya don’t see ‘im” “no, you are!”)</em>. His parents talked to the both of them down before, explaining that <em>no, talkin’ to gods are not normal (“toldja so, Samu”), because only exorcists can have see gods. </em>It was then that the family knew Osamu was an exorcist, and Atsumu had to pretend he didn’t see the looks of pity they gave him because for once, Osamu had something he doesn’t.</p><p>Spirits were easy to deal with for him, especially since they were all minding their own businesses and were not bothering them. </p><p>At least, all before this one. </p><p>Atsumu walked closer to Osamu’s bed, careful not to startle the <em>being</em> above the bed. No wonder the air felt heavy, the dark cloud was even larger than himself that he could almost feel its weight, as if it was him under the blankets and not his twin. Not peeling his eyes off the spirit, he tried reaching out to tap on the blanket. Before he even got to touch it though, the cloud shifted, and if it had a face, it looked like it just snapped its head towards Atsumu.</p><p>He flinched, taking quick steps back until he hit a wall. He could still sense the ghost looking at him. Putting his forefinger under his chin (he and Osamu both once saw a smart character on the TV doing this; therefore doing this must make them look smart), he tried to remember how Osamu got a ghost attached to him.</p><p>First of all, he tried to think of where he last saw Osamu. <em>Ah, this scrub went out at night to get the ball he forgot at that large tree behind the house. </em>One mystery solved, he also thought the situation was a bit ironic since Osamu could easily flick off spirits that got a little too close to them before. But then Atsumu remembered how Osamu complained that his “god” went off to somewhere, so maybe that was the reason for that. </p><p>“What were ya thinkin’, goin’ out at night, ya idiot,” he whispered. The ghost was still turned to him, seemingly watching his every move. A shiver ran down Atsumu’s spine, but he chose to ignore it. </p><p>He closed his eyes, and suddenly, something in him <em>clicked.</em></p><p>Snapping his eyes wide open, he formed a hand seal with his right hand, a small ball of energy manifesting. Spirits like this one are always attracted to positive energy, and the effect was instantaneous. The dark cloud slowly crept towards Atsumu, inching until there were only a few meters between them. When it has fully detached itself from Osamu, Atsumu then bit his left finger hard enough to draw blood, forming another hand seal in the air, manifesting a golden paper he would later learn to be a talisman. He smacked the spirit with his left and it shrieked for no more than three seconds, the heavy air fizzling away with it. </p><p>Many things happened that night as he went to sleep. One thing was that Osamu finally woke up, his fever gone as if it was never there in the first place. Another thing was Atsumu questioning himself, staring at the ceiling as if it knew the answer to his questions, <em>“what just happened?”, “how did I do that?”, “what was it that I did?”, </em>among others. The most important thing was their parents recounting what happened earlier that day, that by the time the exorcist they called arrived, they were all standing by the door, watching their other son perform an exorcism that should have been difficult to handle since the spirit was a high-level one. Not only that, but the resident exorcist noted how his method was “unconventional”, a taboo among exorcists and even among ancient cultivators from which they were reincarnated from. </p><p>After they finished grade school, the twins were both enrolled into Inarizaki High, the only exorcism school in all of Hyogo.</p><p>There, Atsumu learned that exorcists are <em>born</em>, not made. He learned that exorcists are reincarnates of gods or immortals who used to cultivate back in Ancient times, most of them from Ancient China. He learned that as reincarnates, most of the gods’ characteristics reflect on how their reincarnates behave, although the mortals still have their own thoughts and opinions on things. He learned that he must always bow down to the gods and say their names in greetings with respect. He learned that modern exorcists use hand seals that all vary depending on the spell they needed to dispel the spirits. He learned that not all spirits are bad, and that there are eight types of yokais, and each have their own subtypes he’s not bothered to memorize. </p><p>Most of all, he learned that he was different.</p><p>Atsumu doesn’t have a god. He doesn’t have someone float beside him everyday. Rather, he can sense something <em>in</em> him, which doesn’t really make sense unless he’s possessed, but that’s just how it goes. His method, just like what the exorcist years ago told his parents, were unconventional, most of which he has to draw out his own blood or utter an incantation he’s not <em>aware</em> of, but also somehow is fluent in it. The talismans he manifests are complicated, or at least that’s what his teacher used to explain to him when he asked why he has such a low grade on their subject about “Hand Seals”.</p><p>Through it all, he gave zero fucks about how his teachers whisper about his methods and how his classmates giggle at how odd he is. The only thing he cared about was how he enjoyed whatever he was doing, and he at least has Osamu by his side.</p><p>Besides, he thinks it’s an advantage to him since there are only a few people whose gods he should remember (and considers as friends), like Kita Shinsuke and Ojiro Aran who were both reliable senpais, Omimi Ren who helped them with some of their subjects, Ginjima Hitoshi and Akagi Michinari who never forgot to drag them whenever there is a party at the house of someone they only know the name of, and Suna Rintarou, who they learned was the reincarnate of a god who also happened to be quote unquote<em> “related”</em> to Osamu’s god.</p><p>Consequently, Suna started hanging out with them more.</p><p>At first, the lanky guy asked a lot of questions about him which made him slightly uncomfortable. It started with <em>“you really don’t have a god?”</em>, something that the braver ones of his schoolmates used to ask. Then it progressed to questions like <em>“not even a tiny spirit?”</em> or <em>“what do you think of demons?”</em>, and the weirdest of all: <em>“so you really don’t remember?”</em> It came to the point where Atsumu got so annoyed with all of the questions that he started outright avoiding him.</p><p>That didn’t deter Suna, though. </p><p>He’s extremely perspective, Atsumu realized, when after a day of going the opposite direction at the sight of him, Suna immediately seeked the help of Osamu. His pestering advanced to hush conversations between Osamu and him, sometimes not-so-subtly observing Atsumu as they talked. It was annoying, but it’s a hundred times better than the never-ending questions. </p><p>Soon, the twins were no longer seen without their plus one. But if it were Atsumu you asked, he would say that <em>he</em> felt like the plus one.</p><p>He wouldn’t say he’s an expert in romance, not really, but even the palpable sexual tension between the two grated on his bones. They intended it to be unnoticeable; the lingering touches, the hooded eyes, the locked gazes, but <em>damn are they doing a terrible job at it</em>. </p><p>One day when the two were whispering about something that is undeniably <em>not</em> about him, he finally snapped. It was infuriating to watch their weird mating ritual, but what was more maddening were their shrugs as a reply.</p><p>“Oh, we like each other."</p><p>"The fuck? So yer datin' now?"</p><p>"We don't wanna put a label on it, but we're exclusive to each other."</p><p>"That's literally the same thing."</p><p>"The hell d'you know about datin'?"</p><p>Needless to say, the three of them graduated high school and college together, and they are proud to snatch the highest honors. They were Inarizaki’s pride, the best exorcists in Hyogo despite still being an undergraduate. Atsumu had the urge to sneer at those that talked and laughed behind his back, but he stopped himself as he believes he’s fairly matured now (he did stick his tongue out at two of his professors).</p><p>With their reputation, they made Hyogo their domain. They decided not to be affiliated with any exorcists organizations just because, competing against small exorcism organizations in the Kansai region (and, not to brag, but they’re winning it, if the number of cases they have is anything to go by). Since the prefecture is surrounded mostly by seas, the amount of exorcisms they conduct are enough to keep them fed and busy for four whole years.</p><p>Atsumu crouches down to fix the laces of his sneakers while waiting for Rintarou and Osamu pay for the carpark. Three days ago, a museum owner called for their services. Not much has been said to them about the museum’s location that they got lost, going around unfamiliar streets that all looked the same.</p><p>“That’s the place, right?” Rintarou asks, looking at the building that blends well with the busy district, but somehow sticks out like a sore thumb.</p><p>“If the heavy atmosphere ‘round it doesn’t tell ya so, then I don’t know what will,” Atsumu replies, straightening up to follow the two walking towards said museum. At first glance, it really looks just like any other building, but there is undoubtedly <em>something</em> about it that people like them with increased senses for the supernatural can almost see.</p><p>Osamu adjusts the cap on his head. “Damn, the sun’s really out t’day, huh?” he says, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand.</p><p>Atsumu rolls his eyes. “If ya didn’t got us lost then we woulda arrived earlier.”</p><p>“It ain’t my fault we had to make a detour ‘coz <em>someone</em> didn’t empty his bladder ‘fore leavin,’” Osamu retorts.</p><p>“I toldja to turn to left and I was right!” Atsumu spits, pushing one side of the double doors in front of him.</p><p>“Well, if yer so good, then ya should’ve drove us instead, ya turd!” </p><p>“Don’t call me turd, ya dickhead!”</p><p>“Shut up or I’ll make sure I leave a fine imprint of my soles on both of your asses,” Rintarou mutters under his breath, stepping inside the building ahead of the twins.</p><p>“We all know it’s only me yer gonna kick in the ass,” Atsumu mumbles under his breath.</p><p>“That’s ‘coz I’m more bearable than ya,” Osamu whispers back with a smirk.</p><p>“Nah, that’s only ‘coz yer in love with each other,” Atsumu retaliates, sticking his tongue out at his brother. </p><p>“Exactly. I’m more likeable.”</p><p>Rintarou rolls his eyes, although the other two doesn’t really see it. “Hey. Sorry we’re late, we got lost,” he offers at who Atsumu assumes is their client, because the other two beside him are otherwise <em>too</em> dressed-up to be anxious about something paranormal. They look <em>familiar</em>, but Atsumu’s memory has always been bad.</p><p>Atsumu looks at the fancy suit the two exorcists before him are wearing—he can see that they’re free of any wrinkle even from a few feet away from them, he’s sure he will smell the scent of freshly iron fabric if he goes near—then he glances at his own hoodie and loose jeans get-up. Hey, at least he’s wearing the one he just bought last week. He’s a fraction better better than Osamu who’s wearing a black shirt he’s owned since they were 19, the cloth stretching ridiculously over his chest and shoulders that muscled up through the years, and Suna who’s sporting a tattered jeans, the design of which is not the same as it was a year ago. </p><p>He feels self-conscious, something he usually doesn’t feel, especially under the scrutinizing eyes of the taller one whose eyes are dark but expressive despite the fact that half of his face is covered by a mask. He knows he’s merely studying them, as strangers usually do, but Atsumu still plasters an easy smirk when he catches said eyes lingering on him for a moment too long. The guy looks away, blushing cheeks hidden perfectly but the tint on the tips of his ears clear under the white lights.</p><p>Barely suppressing a chuckle, he sweeps his eyes around the museum’s lobby. The ceiling is high over their heads, hanging lamps dim but not dark enough to let the corners get swallowed up by shadows. He crinkles his nose at the scent of polish that seemed to desperately tamper the old wood beneath but failing. The heavy atmosphere that greeted them earlier when they were still outside is pressing incessantly on him now; not entirely a <em>bad</em> feeling but it is unpleasant. The corner of his lips lifts in anticipation.</p><p>Masked guy appears to have collected himself already as he asks in a voice deep enough to shake Atsumu’s organs, “what is going on here?”</p><p>Everyone turns to the museum owner who then introduces himself. Atsumu mentally chuckles at the way Kushida says the word <em>evil</em> as if the museum is dripping in a hundred-year curse.</p><p>But what really piques his interest is the way masked guy’s ears flare up once again. Atsumu ignores the implication that he has been staring at the man to notice that, but squashes it down when he catches on Kushida’s offhanded recollection between him and the suited exorcists’ organization about sending in someone relatively new to the job for investigation. </p><p>“‘Samu! I wasn’t informed we’re goin’ to work with Mr. Goody-two-shoes over here,” he says with a smirk, tilting his head towards Osamu who rolls his eyes at him, sending a message of ‘<em>do ya really hafta flirt at every chance ya get?</em>’ with the gesture.</p><p>Disappointingly (but unsurprisingly) the man’s reply is a scoff. If Atsumu feels something fluttering in his stomach at the way gentle curls sway a little at the action, he brushes it at the very back of his mind.</p><p>After a few seconds of awkward idling, the smaller one beside him steps up. “Komori Motoya. Nice to make your acquaintances,” he says as he reaches out a hand. Atsumu is at least 80% sure now that the two are familiar, the name pinging a small bulb in his brain but not quite connecting it to any memory.</p><p>Suna is the first to reach out, then Osamu follows, and of course Atsumu. Komori smiles at them. Everyone turn their gazes to his companion, taking a moment before introducing himself with a low mumble of “<em>Sakusa Kiyoomi</em>”.</p><p>It becomes silent afterwards, save for the occasional hums of agreement as the other exorcists talk with their gods. Atsumu lets himself observe the masked guy—<em>Sakusa Kiyoomi</em>, the name sounds pleasant even in his mind—and notes that he’s standing just as awkwardly as him, waiting for the others as well. A sliver of hope bubbles up in Atsumu’s chest. <em>Is he perhaps god-less like me?</em></p><p>Rintarou and Osamu abruptly straightens up before bowing down with their arms outstretched in a circle in front of Komori. “Zewu-Jun,” they greet him in tones showing reverence. </p><p>Another thing Atsumu learned from studying at Inarizaki High is that while not all exorcists are snobs, most of their immortals set themselves on a high pedestal, obliging all mortals to treat them with the highest respect. This includes greeting them with a 90-degree bow (on their first year, their Physical Education included said bow to be perfect) and regarding them with their titles. He didn’t get it initially, the concept of the exorcists greeting other immortals. He thought that since they’re all immortals, can’t they just greet each other? But Osamu told him that in the mortal realm, they’re mere <em>presence</em>, and they could only communicate with their reincarnates, much like another consciousness in their body. The immortals could sense another immortal tied with an exorcist, but the only time they could communicate is when they are in the higher realm.</p><p>Osamu’s god is oftentimes regarded with the title “Sandu Shengshou”, derived from his own sword “Sandu”, and some greet with the less formal “Jiang-gongzi”. Rintarou’s god, however, doesn’t have any title because he’s apparently only the second son of their clan before, and so people regard him with “Nie-gongzi”. Those two (and his friends’ immortals) are the only titles he cares enough to remember. Even without his own god to tell him the names of the immortals he meets, he thankfully has Osamu to copy from.</p><p>And so, gathering every ounce of formality in his system, he bows down as he says, “Zewu-Jun”. Now that it has left his mouth, the itch of familiarity is getting harder to ignore. <em>Where did he hear this name again?</em></p><p>The way Komori’s lips tug upwards is enigmatic. “This is a <em>really interesting </em>encounter,” he says, and Atsumu swears his soul is laid bare when he sweeps his deceptively easy gaze over them. </p><p>Komori returns the greetings with, “Jiang-gongzi” and “Nie-gongzi”. <em>Ah, </em>Atsumu thinks, <em>his immortal must be older or a senior of Suna’s and Osamu’s, then</em>. He cocks his head towards Sakusa who does the same, and Atsumu sees the question in his expressive eyes, but Osamu veers the conversation to another topic. “We only have one of the Twin Jades right now?”</p><p>He hears Sakusa answer, but Atsumu’s brain zones in on Osamu’s words. <em>Twin Jades</em>.</p><p>Ah. He remembers now. Really, how could he forget the legendary Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen of the GusuLan Sect? Admittedly, he <em>could</em>, as he had done with more than a hundred other immortals that were in their History subject, but hearing Lan Wangji’s name for the first time irked something in him, like an itch under his fingernails he can’t quite scratch. That night, he dreamed of a man, walk as graceful as the sway of the bamboos, clad in white robes that looks like funeral garbs, long hair laced with a forehead ribbon flowing with the wind. He woke up with a startle, dream as clear as a memory that he could still faintly hear his dream self various intonations of the name “Lan Zhan”. He told Osamu about this, but he only looked at him weirdly, the message behind it going between <em>“I can’t believe yer this fuckin’ dense” </em>to <em>“This is a talk we’re goin’ to have when the time is right”</em>, which, frankly, doesn’t make any sense.</p><p>Another thought dawns on him. Sakusa isn’t god-less like him. He’s still alone. </p><p>He brings back his attention to the present when Kushida walks to the interior of the museum. He isn’t paying any attention to the various posters on the long hallway they go through, but his interest spikes as they enter the main hall. Various exhibits of musical instruments from different countries, traditional and modern, are on full display. He eyes every single one of them with fascination, placing his hands above the glass as if feeling the strings and the holes and the leather beneath his fingers.</p><p>He looks back up and sees the group a good few meters away from him—correction, <em>them</em>, as Sakusa’s semi-crouched stance comes into his view. Atsumu finds it charming, the way the man’s brows are pinched together in concentration to read the texts on a placard in front of a string instrument.</p><p>Atsumu slides in smoothly by his side. “Geomungo. A Korean long board zither. I heard t’was an instrument used for cultivation, like the Chinese <em>guqin</em>, and it’s rarely seen or heard of nowadays,” he comments, priding himself at the way Sakusa jumps in surprise. He glares at Atsumu (who’s still smiling, mind you), but instantly schools his expression like it wasn’t there in the first place. He receives a short “hm” of acknowledgement, and it shouldn’t be much, but Atsumu’s smile quirks up higher on his cheeks.</p><p>A comment from Kushida and an unnecessary banter with Osamu later, they finally arrive at a corner. He notices how the lights in this part of the museum is dimmer, as though preventing any museum visitors to peek at what is covered by a thick cloth and a poorly plastered cheap talisman. </p><p>Kushida suspenses them with, if you’re going to ask Osamu, Atsumu, and Suna a rather <em>boring</em> backstory, before he pulls the thick material to reveal two black instruments. Removing the talisman equates to removing the magic that contains the supernatural, and so immediately, the instruments starts playing.</p><p>Atsumu freezes on the spot. </p>
<hr/><p>The soft plucking of strings and the slightly higher tunes of air ironically renders the museum silent. Kiyoomi would not have distinguished Wangji’s presence by his side, if it is not for the two words he whispers. </p><p>
  <em>“Wei Ying.”</em>
</p><p>A train of realization and recognition hits Kiyoomi right then and there. </p><p>As a reincarnate, the retained memories helped a lot in his exorcisms, but sometimes it hurts his head, especially if he ventures into Wangji’s memories. One name recurred in all of them, each one accompanied by a range of emotions he would not have expected Wangji to <em>have</em>: feelings of fear, of excitement, of betrayal, of annoyance, of <em>love</em>. </p><p>The man he has waited for 13 long lifetimes is finally right in front of him, existing in the same plane and timeline as him, standing in the same room as him.</p><p>And said man is frozen, staring with wide eyes at the instruments Kiyoomi can now remember the names of: <em>Wangji</em>, the guqin that belongs to him, and <em>Chenqing</em>, the flute that is owned by the man.</p><p>He feels Wangji’s emotions thrum through his being. Finally, <em>finally</em>, after waiting for such a long time, he has found him. And now, with the both of them recognizing it and maybe recognizing the presence of each other, Wangji’s dreams of living for eternity with <em>his </em>Wei Ying can finally come true.</p><p>But whatever hope and excitement that had built up in both Kiyoomi and Wangji is stamped down with Atsumu’s unbelievably loud voice.</p><p>“Woah, that’s a good ass song! Sounds a li’l sad, though. Doesn’t it? Does that make sense?”</p><p><em>Ah, shit</em>. Kiyoomi curses mentally. Atsumu has no idea that inside his body resides another soul, and a powerful one at that.</p><p>Atsumu has no idea that he is the reincarnate of the grandmaster of demonic cultivation, and things for Kiyoomi and Wangji had just become more complicated than they thought.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter is written by precious (cjdsjmlyx)!! comments and kudos are always appreciated &lt;3</p><p>additional notes:<br/>-jun: (means man) used mostly for respected people, sometimes a male friend.<br/>-gongzi: (means young master) used for somebody from a distinguished household in a polite way or from a servant to a master, xichen used it as a sign of respect </p><p>scream at/with us on twitter!! <a href="https://twitter.com/cirquedeluna">cirquedeluna</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lanistowei">lanistowei</a><br/>for questions, clarifications, and violent reactions, hit us (mostly solera) up on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/cirquedeluna">cc</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi again!! have some wangxian fluff (really just wangji pining) as a late valentines gift &lt;3</p><p>this chapter is in wangji's pov.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lan Wangji met his first and only love, his <em>soulmate</em>, in the most unusual place and situation ever: one leg over the roof of the Cloud Recesses’ wall at hours past the curfew of 9 in the evening, sneaking in Gusu’s renowned alcohol—the ‘Emperor’s Smile’, as he has heard people call it while passing the marketplace. Wangji, ever the epitome of discipline, flew over the wall, feet right in front of the boy’s face.</p><p>Had Wangji known that he would fall so painfully for the aggravatingly beautiful man, he would have ignored him, instead opting to rest in his quarters, as he usually did after seclusion. But young Wangji was righteous, as straight as a twig. </p><p>“It is forbidden to go inside the Cloud Recesses after leaving at night. Return tomorrow at seven in the morning. Put your leg down the wall,” Wangji recited, stepping a little closer to his arms to prompt him to go down. Wangji’s feet were right at the boy’s vision, but it slowly turned to look up at him. He smiled sheepishly at being caught red-handed, but made no move to follow Wangji’s command. Instead, he steadied himself by putting his dangling leg further up the wall, sitting comfortably by its slope.</p><p>Lan Wangji was fifteen when he realized he was attracted to men. Or, rather, he was attracted to one man and he would never be attracted to any other person ever.</p><p>But that would be a thought of close-to-sleep Wangji. There were even more pressing matters at the moment.</p><p>He felt his left eye twitched when the boy raised two jars of Emperor’s Smile. Wangji was not usually one to frown, face always devoid of any expressions, but his eyebrows pinched slightly (the most movement it has ever done for fifteen years of Wangji’s life) with the boy’s next words. </p><p>He should have known right then and there that there would only be one person who could ever pull such expressions from him.</p><p>“If I give you one jar, can you pretend you never saw me?” he said, raising the jar up to Wangji. He was still wearing that easy smile that should not make Wangji feel like it glows under the light of the moon…</p><p>...but it did. It did, and Wangji hated the way he could not stop himself from thinking that nothing in Cloud Recesses, nothing in GusuLan, could ever top the beauty that is the boy’s smile. It was awful enough that the untidy ponytail made Wangji’s heart race but in a pleasant way, and how the red lace tying long dark hair up danced with the wind. It warmed Wangji’s heart, spreading from his chest to his stomach and limbs that he had to clench his hand by his sword at his side to prevent himself from reaching out. <em>No, </em>he told himself, he should be <em>furious </em>that this man had the audacity to break GusuLan’s rules.</p><p>Wangji barely managed to reel himself to mutter, “Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.” His hand clenched tighter around the hilt of his sword when the boy made a move but not to go down. Rather, he stood up, as if sensing Wangji’s actions as a challenge. </p><p>“Well, if I drink this <em>here</em>, I’m technically not <em>inside</em> the Cloud Recesses, no?” he said, easy smile turning into a rather dangerous smirk. And Wangji, young and still immature no matter how much his uncle boasted him among his peers, unsheathed Bichen, its glare almost blinding under the full moon’s glow. It was wrong, he knew, but something from the boy poked at his very soul, beckoning him like a moth to a flame. </p><p>The boy—Wangji realized he still has no idea what to call him—was surprisingly quick on his feet, balancing two jars of alcohol on one hand and his own sword on the other. His techniques were different from what Wangji was used to in GusuLan; they were rough and a little rushed, but still held the same grace as that of a disciple from a prominent sect, which, maybe he was, and according to his uncle’s teaching should have been one of the first things he would learn about a stranger, but that was far from Wangji’s thoughts at the time. </p><p>More strands of hair fell on the boy’s face as they escaped the pathetic excuse of a ponytail, but it was unfair that it framed the pretty face perfectly. Adoration and annoyance fight their way through Wangji’s brain, the thought that it was also forbidden to fight in the Cloud Recesses registering belatedly as he blocked another offense from his opponent. It was a first for him to face someone who was of the same level of skill in sword that he has.</p><p>He would not admit it that time, but the thrill from finally finding someone worth who could pull such effort from him was something he has always craved. </p><p>It was beautiful. Their fight could be easily mistaken to a dance, graceful and flowing like their robes that were of contrasting color, like their owners. One had a deceiving lazy grin while the other had a small frown staining his otherwise perfectly stoic face, but both were equally fueled by a blaze as golden eyes stared directly at black ones. If there were anyone who witnessed it, disregarding the fact that they were violating one of GusuLan’s rules, they for sure would be clapping as each offense was readily met with a seamless defense. It was as if the swords themselves were having a fruitful conversation about something philosophical.</p><p>The effort to keep up and the sounds of clanging swords grating Wangji’s ears were more than enough to bring a furrow between his eyebrows. A quick glance around them had him noticing that they had already flew down the wall, directly in front of GusuLan Sect’s wall of rules. The summer night was warm, but Wangji felt a shiver run up his arms as he swung. The warmth permeated his skin, settling on his gut as the boy easily dodged his attack.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Several things happened at once as the world seemingly slowed down. The boy stepped forward, aiming at Wangji’s arm, and Wangji in return swung his sword. This, however, was what made the boy’s other arm defensively raise, the string connecting the two jars getting slashed directly by Bichen. The sound of crashing porcelain against the pebbled ground was deafeningly loud in Wangji’s head as he finally recognized the emotions he felt for the boy, the same ones he has read from the few non-academic books in the Library Pavillon he read before. That realization was even more devastating than the fact that they once again broke GusuLan Sect’s rule of no loud noises at night. </p><p>The silence that followed found them in Xichen’s quarters who was thankfully still awake that time. Granted, the silence was from Wangji’s usual and the boy whose mouth has been successfully sealed by Lan’s powerful silencing spell. His xionzhang raised his eyebrows with the sight that greeted him as he parted his doors. Wangji stared right back at Xichen, watched as questions and answers flashed while he alternated his gaze between him and the boy who obediently finally kept quiet (though it was only for a few minutes). He made Wangji think of the appropriate punishment for the boy, and the moment he looked at his <em>xiong zhang</em> and saw his knowing look when he said that writing their sect’s rules 300 times would be good to teach him a lesson, he for once had made a mistake. </p><p>That night, he laid in bed as he was kept up by the previous events and the name that branded itself behind Wangji’s eyelids even before he learned of it. </p><p>Wei Ying<em>, </em>with the courtesy name Wei Wuxian<em>. </em>Annoying, loud, broke more GusuLan’s rules in one night than a foreign disciple who stayed in Cloud Recesses for years. Powerful, intelligent, talented, deserving of being YungmengJiang Sect’s leading disciple, <em>Wei Wuxian.</em></p><p>Wangji was lulled to sleep with the thoughts of soft lips stretched in a bright grin, of dark eyes that looked red as it glowed, of elegant black robes, of long messy hair accentuated with a silk of crimson, of <em>Wei Ying.</em> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Wangji had a plan.</p><p>It was simple three-step plan: first, he was not going to acknowledge what he felt because recognizing it makes it real and he could <em>not </em>afford to make it real. Second, he knew it would be in both of their best interest to ignore <em>him</em>, even after knowing from their interaction last night that <em>he</em> would not stop at anything just to get under his skin. Lastly, he would continue with his studies, try to be the best, if not a really good cultivator of his generation without any distraction.</p><p> It was simple and flawless, but the fates might not had been on his side. He knew that GusuLan was to host lectures for disciples from different sects. He knew that they would share classes for at least three months, and that avoiding the boy that plagued his last night’s (and many more nights to come) dreams was a lost cause.</p><p>During their first class, which was comprised of his uncle reciting all of GusuLan Sect’s rules, a vein in his forehead almost popped with irritation as he heard from several seats away from him <em>that</em> voice, clearly disrespecting the class with not paying attention. Wangji could not understand where the boy got the nerves to be impertinent to his sect rules, how he could act so brazenly right in front of him, why Wangji could not tear his gaze from such an eye-catching gem encased in a shameless character. </p><p>So much for a simple plan when he could not even accomplish the first step.</p><p>Nevertheless, Wangji persevered in his one-man war. He could do this. He tried not to think too much how he should not even be having this dilemma; how this should never have been a problem for him. But it was, and Wei Ying’s harmonious giggle was a welcome addition to his issue.</p><p>Since the problem had presented itself in the form of a vexingly charismatic fifteen-year-old, Wangji had no choice but to face it head-on. He managed to hold onto what was left of his sanity when his uncle snapped at Wei Ying for being noisy; then when Wei Ying managed to answer his uncle’s tricky question albeit different and may be considered wrong; even when his uncle told him to watch over the walking headache in the Library Pavillon as he copied Virtue and Conduct ten times; and again when he and Wei Ying <em>almost</em> fought again because of a particularly <em>vulgar</em> image he planted in Wangji’s poor, innocent, mind. </p><p>He had actually grown quite accustomed to the perpetual noise associated with Wei Ying’s presence. It was unlike what he was used to, but Wangji had come to appreciate it, if not <em>looking</em> for it whenever he was not around. </p><p>Even so, it still had not sunk in how Wei Ying, along with his brother Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin, managed to tag along with Wangji and his <em>xiong zhang</em> on an extermination mission in Caiyi Town. It happened too fast; Wei Ying running wildly because Lan Qiren went out for QingheNie Sect’s Discussion Conference, Jiang Wanyin following closely behind with his constant deep scowl, them acknowledging the Twin Jades’ presence, Wei Ying being nosy and asking about the case of water ghoul in Biling Lake, Xichen looking at Wangji before agreeing for the two to come along. It was strange, how easily his <em>xiong zhang</em> could read his thoughts and how he was not opposed to all of this, instead replying, “you wanted him to come, did you not?” that silenced Wangji and his contradicting speech of how it should only be Lan’s business.</p><p>The boat ride towards the center of the lake was quiet, but only due to cautiousness. Everyone was visibly on edge, even Wangji strained his eyes to see beyond the thick fog that suddenly surrounded them. The silence, as was expected, was broken by Wei Ying.</p><p>“Lan Zhan, look at me!” he shouted, swinging his bamboo paddle and splashing water towards Wangji. </p><p>Wangji, ever-so-gracious-and-elegant, easily leaped up in the air and landing on Wei Ying’s boat. He was right, Yunmeng’s leading disciple only went to fool around. He huffed a sharp “Pathetic,” watching as Wei Ying turned the boat he previously used upside down. The sudden proximity between Wangji and the boy he <em>should</em> be avoiding made him extra cranky.</p><p>There, on the underside of his boat, clung three water ghouls that a nearby disciple immediately suppressed. From a few meters away from him, Wangji could see Xichen and his amused smile. </p><p>“How did you know they were under the boat, Wei-gongzi?” he asked, tone kind but Wangji knew it was dripping with interest and that Xichen knew that <em>he </em>thought it was amusing as well. He turned his gaze back to the now upturned boat, sans water ghouls.</p><p>Wei Ying was <em>vibrating</em> with pride by his side. “Simple! Lan Zhan’s boat dipped lower into the water than those boats that were occupied by two or more people. Clearly, there was something wrong, and indeed, they were clinging below!” he explained excitedly, and if he had a tail, it would be wagging profusely at Xichen’s acknowledgement. Wangji’s frown deepened at the way his heart once again picked up its pace, and it did not go unnoticed by Wei Ying.</p><p>Wei Ying, whether fortunately for Wangji or not, was awfully dense. He has mistaken Wangji’s frown as some sort of grudge from having him leap. “Hey, Lan Zhan. Don’t be mad at me. Water ghouls are extremely clever, they would go away if I told you outright. Hey. Don’t ignore me. Lan-er gege, look at me,” he explained, trying to catch Wangji’s eyes. </p><p>Wangji sighed exasperatedly. “Why did you come?” he finally asked, slowly getting tired of dealing with Wei Ying’s immense energy and his own confusing feelings. </p><p>“I wanted to apologize. Last time was my fault,” he said sincerely, catching Wangji off-guard with the sudden genuinity. How many more times would Wei Ying try to surprise Wangji?</p><p>“Today, I really came to help,” he continued, eyes void of its usual playfulness. Wangji was spared from a lack of reply when, somewhere in the fog behind them, shouted, “the net caught something!”</p><p>Wei Ying motioned for his sword to slash at the ghoul and all Wangji could do was watch in astonishment. Curiosity getting the best of him, he asked, “what was the name of the sword?”</p><p>Said sword made its way back to its scabbard secured at Wei Ying’s side. He patted it, like one would a pet that behaved well, and said, “Suibian”.</p><p>Just when Wangji finally thought they were starting to get along, Wei Ying had to crash that small piece of chance. “A sword has its own spirit. One should not call it just as one wishes.”</p><p>Annoyance easily got toppled off with glee when Wei Ying’s laugh rang through. “No, really, it’s name is Suibian. When Uncle Jiang gave me the sword, I could not think of an appropriate name for it. Every name I thought of were unsatisfying, and when I blurted out, ‘whatever’, amazingly it adapted it as its name. Here, look,” he explained, familiar teasing tone coming back as if it was always there, turning the blade in front of Wangji’s face. Indeed, two characters were engraved there. </p><p>When Wangji still could not think of an appropriate reply, completely rendered speechless by the strangeness that encompassed not only the boy but everything he owned as well, Wei Ying teased him once again. “It’s not entirely a bad name, right? It always gets fuddy-duddy guys like you,” he exclaimed, laughing. Wangji hated that he was being teased, but he hated the fact that he enjoyed the sound more than any music he has ever heard more. </p><p>Jiang Wanyin, who seemed to be pulled taut with Wei Ying’s antics, finally snapped. “Hey, if you came here to help, come here and actually help!” he shouted. </p><p>A disciple from their right shouted, “It’s coming again!” </p><p>The both of them straightened up in attention, watching as the net up front pulled some of the boats holding it. They followed, and soon after, they were at the center of the lake. They watched as the fog cleared and saw the water turning darker by the second. The attempt to turn back was futile as the darkness, Wangji now realized were clumps of hundred water ghouls, circling all of them. His eyes widened at the realization that the ghouls were behaving in a way to create a large whirlpool, dragging all boats with the current now strong enough to engulf them all.</p><p>“Ride your swords!” he heard his <em>xiong zhang</em> say. Everyone immediately mounted their own swords, easily lifting themselves above the rapidly spinning water. Judging from the scale of the chaos, Wangji concluded that the number of water ghouls was enormous enough, its power accumulating to that equivalent of a water demon. Within the whirlpool of slowly sinking boats, an unmistakingly white robe stood out. </p><p>An older disciple noticed him as well. “Why did you go around throwing your sword in the water, Su She? Why must you always act even before knowing what we’re dealing with?” he shouted, panicking. He clearly wanted to help, but did not know how to. Su She was already waist-deep near the center of the whirlpool.</p><p>A blur of black dashed before Wangji’s eyes. Sure enough, Wei Ying had already come down, grabbing Su She’s arm to lift him up, but the sucking force of the whirlpool was too strong for Suibian to hold the both of them.</p><p>Within seconds, without any hesitation, Wangji had his hand curled tightly behind Wei Ying’s collar, exerting effort to lift them up. Shameless Wei Ying, of course, had to make a comment on this.</p><p>“Why won’t you hold my hand instead, Lan-er gege?” he asked, still teasing, as if he was not close to absolute death just a few seconds prior.</p><p>Wangji’s jaw clenched. “I do not like physical contact with others.”</p><p>“But we’re already familiar with each other, are we not?” Wei Ying still has not given up, and if Wangji was not entirely enchanted by this man, he would not think twice to let go and let the demon below swallow him (the insolent dog who recklessly threw his sword in the water for no particularly good reason) up. </p><p>When they landed, he immediately let go of Wei Ying’s collar as if he was burned, distracting himself from reaching over to feel the young man’s heat in his hand when he commented, “It’s a waterborne abyss.”</p><p>Wangji mindlessly observed as Xichen and the others discuss how to deal with the waterborne abyss. Mindlessly, because his thoughts were too swarmed with the answer to Wei Ying’s earlier question at the tip of his tongue. He <em>wanted</em> to hold him by his hand, he <em>wanted </em>to feel it clasped around his.</p><p><em>Righteous. Wangji, you are righteous. Stop thinking of such indecent things</em>, he repeated in his head like a spell. But it was as if he was using a broom at the shore to try and fend off a large wave from pulling him into the deep and uncharted seas. </p><p>Wangji had a plan, and it did not include wanting. Yet here he was, finally letting go of the security from the familiar coldness and accepting that the warmth emanating from Wei Ying’s whole being.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Wangji was never an impulsive person.</p><p>He grew up in a household where his every action was measured, carefully calculated in order to get the result he wanted. He would think of all the possible consequences of his actions at least three times, never letting any stones unturned, before acting on them. This was what the Lan’s, especially Wangji—righteous, uncorrupted, honorable Wangji—was well-known of. He upheld his reputation, although he did not really care much about what people think of him. For Wangji, his deliberate actions and decisions would lead to a satisfying life. </p><p>Kissing Wei Ying was an action that was neither measured nor calculated, and yet, it was the most satisfying thing he has ever done. At this point, he should not have been surprised of the things he had been capable of doing ever since he met the young man, but this one must be the most <em>shameless</em> thing he had not even imagined himself doing.</p><p>It had been almost a year when he last saw Wei Ying, the yearning and longing simmering to levels completely out of what Wangji was comfortable about. He had almost forgotten to restrain himself from reaching out to him when he saw him again, heart pounding scarily in his ears. It did not help that Wei Ying <em>had</em> to make Wangji’s heart stutter even more when he tossed him a flower as the disciples of Lan were introduced at the start of QiShanWen’s Discussion Conference in the form of hunting competition at Phoenix Mountain. And when Wei Ying just <em>had to</em> boast his archery skills by putting on a blindfold (it was supposed to be Wangji’s own forehead ribbon that he had malfunctioned on the spot with the mere thought of his ribbon on Wei Ying’s person, but this black ribbon was already torture enough) and firing three arrows at once, all of which hit the center of the board, Xichen nearly needed to clasp his hand on Wangji’s shoulder to keep him from <em>tackling</em> Wei Ying and smother him with his weight to keep the many maidens’ eyes away from <em>his</em> man. The attention was enough to ground Wangji, but the buzzing in his blood never left, even after the hunting has started.</p><p>To be honest, everything that happened after could have been easily avoided if Wei Ying did not play his flute. Wangji made sure to go to a side of the mountain specifically away from where he guessed the other would go. But like the spirits that capture people by seducing them, Wangji was enthralled, totally captivated. And even then, he knew he had an exit, but still chose to follow the sound.</p><p>There, on a low-lying branch a few feet ahead, rested the man from his beautiful nightmares and awful daydreaming, one leg swaying against the moist grass beneath and black ribbon snug against his eyes. The sunlight that was not blocked by leaves overhead made a pattern on Wei Ying’s smooth skin. </p><p>Wangji thought he was undeserving of having seen Wei Ying basked in both the soft glow of the moon and the warm light of the sun.</p><p>Wangji carefully walked over to the man, quiet enough as to not scare him but not too much to let the man be aware of his presence. Wei Ying did not so much as stir, only tilting his head a little towards Wangji in a loose form of greeting. </p><p>“Did you come here for the hunt?” he asked, languidly twirling his flute between his fingers. <em>Sinful, sinful Wei Ying. </em></p><p>Wangji did not answer, instead opting to move closer to the man. Wei Ying said, “you won’t get anything from me, sorry,” still not getting up from his perch. Wangji moved even closer, now within an arm’s reach from him.</p><p>Wei Ying slowly sat up, which made Wangji think that he was about to get busted. The Jiang disciple however settled comfortably, turning his body fully towards Wangji. The ribbon shifted a bit as he furrowed his eyebrows, but not from wariness. Rather, it was from amusement, as if he did not expect <em>this person</em> to still be there, and the mirth manifested itself in the smirk that formed on his lips, giving Wangji no choice but to get drawn towards it.</p><p>The logical part of Wangji screamed at him, <em>Shameless! Shameless! Stop whatever it is you are planning!</em>, but what won was the irrational part that whispered at him to <em>just do it, you have desired for it for way too long</em>.</p><p>Letting the illogical take the wheel, Wangji closed his eyes as he pinned Wei Ying’s wrists above his head, his lips shoved against the other’s, effectively swallowing whatever words may have had come out of his mouth.</p><p>One second, Wangji was contemplating; the next, he let go of his reins, indulging himself in an inexperienced kiss.</p><p>
  <em>They were kissing.</em>
</p><p>They were kissing, and Wangji had no idea what he was doing, and he knew he was too rough, and that this was wrong on many levels, but it felt <em>so</em> <em>so good.</em> </p><p>It was foreign, strange, too unnatural, too forceful, but it felt so <em>right</em> that Wangji started to unconsciously shake.</p><p>In the first few seconds, Wei Ying was frozen stiff. Wangji could have had easily mistaken him for a statue, if not for the small breath that was passed to him as he exhaled. </p><p>Wei Ying’s lips were <em>scalding</em> against his, soft and a little dry from dehydration, but welcoming all the same. It was everything yet nothing Wangji had imagined at all. He leaned even impossibly closer, completely drunk from his desire.</p><p><em>Want, want, want, </em>his feral brain chanted wildly as he claimed more of Wei Ying. <em>Take, take, take, </em>it said, and his mouth opened up a little, letting Wei Ying swallow a shaky exhale. </p><p>Wangji took this as an invitation, slipping his tongue inside the wet heat of Wei Ying’s mouth, turning his head in time with Wei Ying to deepen the kiss. They fought like that for a good few seconds, rough yet graceful, like the first night they met each other. This made Wangji even more aggressive, taking the other’s bottom lip between his teeth to bite softly, sucking a little bit off to the side as he reluctantly let go to let the both of them catch their breaths. </p><p>He was was taken by surprise when Wei Ying chased after his lips, lifting his head from its press against the trunk. Wangji recovered in a split-second, bracing his other hand behind Wei Ying’s head. He did not notice how he <em>tugged</em> slightly at Wei Ying’s unruly hair, but the <em>whine </em>that answered made Wangji’s fervor spike up to even more intense levels. Their tongues were hot and slick against each other, their mouths slotted perfectly in every angle they positioned themselves. The kiss was fierce but at the same time gentle, like kneading a clay to make an elaborate jar of the world’s most expensive wine. Wangji’s ears were ringing with warning; the cacophony of “<em>Be righteous, Wangji!”</em>, “<em>This is wrong, you should stop this instant</em>”, “<em>How can this be wrong if it feels so good?</em>”, “<em>Ravage him, own him, do everything in your power to make him yours” </em>turning into white noise. </p><p>The lack of air made the both of them breathless, but it was Wangji who broke the kiss first, glaring at the string of saliva that connected their lips. Wrists still pinned above him, Wangji watched as Wei Ying panted deep breaths, chest rising and falling heavily like he just ran uphill, lips red and swollen from Wangji’s rapt attention.</p><p>It was then that the logical part finally wrestled the illogical one from controlling Wangji, like a mindless puppet that got its strings cut off. Dread pressed heavily on his stomach, successfully dousing the heat of want and pleasure in his gut and crotch to render Wangji awake.</p><p>Wangji was never impulsive, always careful in his actions and decisions. But now, he was just that, and because he had acted without much regard for the consequences, the only thing he could do to alleviate it was to <em>run.</em></p><p>He ran, away from Wei Ying, away from his thoughts, away from his feelings, away from <em>everything.</em></p><p>But he could not. No. How could he run away from Wei Ying when he had him wrapped around his fingers, bound tighter than the ribbon secured on Wangji’s forehead?</p><p>He suddenly stopped running. Frustrations—mainly at <em>himself</em> rather than the subject of his internal conflict—prompted him to punch the tree trunk he was leaning onto so hard, it almost snapped in half.</p><p>Deep breaths. He took deliberate deep breaths, forcing the trembling to subside. Every exhale sounded pained, and maybe Wangji was, but he had no time to consider it when he heard rustling of footsteps against the forest floor nearing him.</p><p>“Lan Zhan!”</p><p>Foolish. Wangji was foolish to think he could run away from this man. He was even more foolish to try to convince himself he wanted to get away from him in the first place.</p><p>His vision suddenly got too full of Wei Ying that he scrambled to get his footing stable as he tried to step back too quickly. Wei Ying, dense as ever, did not pick up Wangji’s distress, leaning closer to be friendly as worry washed over his face, but thankfully not too close for Wangji’s irrationality to claw back up his system.</p><p>Wei Ying surveyed Wangji’s fist still embedded in the poor trunk. “Wow, scary,” he commented, more to himself than Wangji. He tried to catch Wangji’s eyes, but like an aggrieved prey being cornered, Wangji took on the apprehension. </p><p>“Go away!” he shouted, too sudden and too loud that the both of them flinched from it. </p><p>Wei Ying tilted his head in confusion but backed a step away. Wangji stopped himself from pulling him closer.</p><p>He glanced back at Wangji’s fist, then back at Wangji’s face he was sure was turning terrifyingly red by the second from embarrassment and frustration. Wangji felt his throat closing up painfully, as if he was close to crying. Maybe he was, but Wangji was too focused on trying to avoid Wei Ying’s gaze to know for sure.</p><p>“Hey, I just came to check up on you. Do you really hate me that much?” Wei Ying asked, sounding faux-hurt to try and lift the atmosphere. It did not work, of course. Wangji turned his head to look at him fast it was a surprise his neck did not snap from whiplash.</p><p>He was getting angrier now, and the enormous heat that was trapped inside him from their kiss earlier radiated off of him he might combust. How could he think he <em>hated</em> him? Was he really that dense? Why did he not look as affected as Wangji was?</p><p>Red hot fury from the thoughts had him shouting, another action very <em>uncharacteristic </em>of him. “Stay away from me!”</p><p>Wangji might be foolish, but he thought Wei Ying must be more foolish than he was, like he was poking a sleeping bear with a stick. </p><p>He still did not let Wangji go even as he tried to walk off. “Are you really alright, Lan Zhan? Lan Wangji? Lan-er gege? Hanguang-Jun?” he kept prodding, keeping up with Wangji’s brisk pace.</p><p>Wangji’s jaws were starting to hurt along with the faint throbbing in his fist from being clenched too hard. He stopped walking then looked coldly back at Wei Ying in hopes of scaring him. It did not work, but it was worth a try.</p><p>He continued to stare at his face for a few seconds longer than necessary that Wei Ying started to squirm from the intensity of it. He continued, “Were you poisoned? Did someone bully you? Well, if someone bullied you, they got to have guts of steel,” giggling at his own joke. </p><p>The stare was not broken off. Something softened in Wei YIng’s eyes he now realized was slightly teary, no doubt from the strain of the light after being blindfolded for too long. Wangji tried not to sweep his gaze downwards, but naturally, he failed, watching as Wei Ying unconsciously brought a hand up to touch his pitifully abused lips from the attention. </p><p>“Have you ever kissed someone, Lan Zhan?”</p><p>The question was asked without malice, softly, completely out of curiosity. But the pressure of it choked Wangji. Fear mixed with guilt was nauseating.</p><p>It took him a few seconds to reply. “How did you know?” he asked simply, omitting anything that could come after. <em>How did you know it was me, how did you know what I felt, how did you know I desired you so much that it was starting to scare me?</em></p><p>“I knew it, you haven’t have you?”</p><p>Wangji almost slapped his face from disappointment and relief. How could he forget how dense Wei Ying could be? The simple teasing reply was enough to stomp down on his fears. <em>It was good, he still had no idea. We can continue to be like what we were before</em>. It hurt to think of it like that, but Wangji was contended with it. For now, at least.</p><p>Wei Ying laughed, easing Wangji’s nerves. “With such stiff and cold face like yours, Lan Zhan, I’m not really surprised. You could easily scare off a maiden from a hundred meters away. You might never get to kiss your entire life!” he exclaimed, head thrown back with his laugh.</p><p>He relaxed, starting to walk again with fake confidence in his steps. Wei Ying followed beside him. He asked conversationally, “what about you?” </p><p>Wei Ying unintentionally pressed his lips together, remembering the kiss that happened not even an hour prior. “Me? Of course I have lots of experience!”</p><p>Wangji immediately stiffened again. He should not feel disappointed from that statement that seemed like empty boasting, but he knew Wei Ying was never one to lie. Something clicked in his head.</p><p><em>Ah. I am in love, and being so meant having to deal with all of these ugly feelings as well</em>, he concluded.</p><p>Wangji was sixteen when he realized he was in love, and when he made it his goal to win over Wei Ying.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Acknowledging one’s feelings, Wangji learned, made time seem to go too fast. </p><p>Wangji busied himself with his studies, trying to go back to his rhythm before Wei Ying came into his life, but every time, his thoughts would just get dragged back to that beautiful man with obnoxious jokes and equally obnoxiously beautiful laugh. He finally succumbed to those thoughts, letting himself indulge in make-believe scenarios of the two of them, sometimes reminiscing the little time they had spent together. </p><p>His favorite memory was probably the day they made lanterns, of Wei Ying wishing sincerely to always stand with justice. Wangji would think back to those eyes that were screwed tight, to the glee reflected in them as he let his lantern float away.</p><p>And, admittedly, Wangji missed him. It was ridiculous, how someone left such impression on him, but he had learned to accept that the yearning was part of his feelings. Without fail, he would think of what Wei Ying must have been doing back at Lotus Pier. He probably would have a lot of fun, based from the many stories he had made Wangji listen on before. He missed him, and Wangji would be happy to see him again, but he was content with this for now.</p><p>He did not wish to meet his love again like this, limping, pathetic, <em>weak.</em></p><p>A lot had happened for the past few days. Wen Xu, Wen Clan’s first son, led an attack, burning the Cloud Recesses. The Library Pavillon was heavily damaged, his brother barely managing to save a few scriptures when he ran away with it. It had been a few days since his <em>xiong zhang</em> went missing. Wangji knew his father was heavily injured, but he did not have time to check up on his condition when he was quite literally dragged to QishanWen Sect’s indoctrination after they broke one of his legs. </p><p>Everything was too much for young and reliable Wangji, but his thoughts about Wei Ying never went away. It actually increased, worrying that something might have happened to him and his family over at Yunmeng. The desire to see the boy grew larger, and yet, now that they were face to face after only a few months, Wangji wanted to hide away.</p><p>When Wei Ying asked if he wanted to be carried on his back to prevent him from straining his injured leg further, he almost agreed. But Wangji was prideful, and so he refused; which might be a mistake, because now, he was simmering in jealousy as Wei Ying went over to one of LanlingJin’s ladies to ask for a perfume pouch.</p><p>“Wen-gongzi! They found it! Someone found the entrance!” he heard someone shout while they were resting by the riverbank. It had not even been five minutes since he sat down to relieve his leg from the stress it had been put on for days of walking when they were rushed to follow immediately.</p><p>The Wens were cruel pigs who were greedy for power that they knew, the moment the disciples hand in their swords, they would be at their mercy.</p><p>Wen Chao, the one leading the hunt and the only one shamelessly mounted on a horse with what looked like a whorish concubine disgustingly stuck beside him, went to the front of the line excitedly. He unmounted his steed, surveying the hole on the ground a good few meters smaller than a crouched Wangji. </p><p>The entrance was too small, and beyond it was endless darkness. Wen Chao did not have it in him to investigate first, cowardly commanding one of the forcibly gathered disciples to go first. “Quick! One of you, go down, and tell me what it is under there.”</p><p>When no one made a move, he added, “Listen to me. Or have you forgotten I’m the one who commands this troop? I’m the only one with the sword, and you going missing would not be questioned by your families after this <em>trip.</em>”</p><p>Jin Zixuan, LanlingJin Sect’s heir and Jiang Yanli’s betrothed, was the one near it. Scoffing, he flipped his golden robes before holding onto one of the vines hanging above the mouth of the entrance and went down. Everyone except Wen Chao and his dogs followed after, the trek down long and anxiety-inducing. The darkness that engulfed them when they landed was accompanied with coldness that Wangji has never felt before.</p><p>“Oi, how is it down there?” Wen Chao’s voice echoed above them. In retaliation, the disciples did not mutter a single word, forcing the Wens to come down by themselves. Wangji tuned out Wen Chao’s complaints. Soon after, torches were passed as they examined their surroundings. </p><p>Wangji took note of the high ceiling. Several steps away from the land was a lake, its depth unknown with the darkness. He could see a silhouette of an islet at the center of the lake. As he was looking around, his eyes suddenly caught Wei Ying’s. Wangji looked away.</p><p>Annoyed that he could not find the “prey” he was looking for, Wen Chao barked another order. “Lure the beast out with blood! Make someone bleed and tie them up!”</p><p>Everyone tensed. Wen Chao reveled in their fear as he raked his gaze at them, finding an appropriate victim for his madness. Wang Lingjiao, the leech still clinging on his arm, pointed at a woman near Wangji. “What about her?”</p><p>MianMian, as Wangji had heard when Wei Ying was flirting with her earlier, tried to hide herself behind the disciples in front of her. </p><p>Wen Chao’s eyes widened a fraction. “Her? What about someone else?” he stammered, clearly not wanting to waste such a beauty as a sacrifice. Wang Lingjiao may be dim but she picked up on this one and was enraged with jealousy. </p><p>“What? Don’t tell me you’ll miss her?” she accused, stepping away from her permanent clutch on Wen Chao’s arm.</p><p>Wen Chao shaked his head frantically. “No, no! I only need my JiaoJiao, to hell with any other woman,” he placated her, effectively making her cling back to him. He pointed back at MianMian, screeching, “Seize her!”</p><p>Within seconds, two men used their bodies to block the lady from those that started to move in accordance to Wen Chao’s command. It was Wangji and Jin Zixuan, distinguished disciples of prominent clans that the others hesitated to move closer.</p><p>One audacious disciple bearing GusuLan’s pure white robes moved to grab MianMian’s arm. Wangji was enraged, immediately striking him to the side. He would see to it that the disciple would not come back as their disciple, if ever they managed to go out of this. </p><p>This angered Wen Chao. “How dare you defy me! Kill them!”</p><p>A fight erupted. It was hard, trying to dodge Wen’s swords without anything by his hand while also being mindful of his injured leg. Fortunately, Wen’s techniques were far inferior than that of Lan’s, and Wangji had successfully brought down a handful of them.</p><p>Amidst the chaos, he heard the unmistakable sound of Wei Ying’s laughter. It was loud enough that everyone stopped abruptly. He was leaning against the cave wall, arms crossed and poised in a mocking manner.</p><p>This look on Wei Ying should not make Wangji feel all hot and bothered, especially not at a time like <em>this</em>, but Wangji has long since accepted that his thoughts were completely corrupted by the man clad in black and crimson robes. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>If GusuLan’s motto of “righteousness” was a living person, they would be shaking their downcast head in so much disappointment. Wangji found himself not caring about it, which terrified him even more. If he put more thought into it, he realized Wei Ying embodied his sect’s motto of “attempt the impossible” more than Wangji of his. Irritation and pride swelled in Wangji’s chest again. </p><p> “‘Those who oppress others by relying on their clan’s power should be killed. Other than that, they must be beheaded before thousands of people so that the next generations would be aware of their actions,’” he recited, walking lazily back and forth.</p><p>Wen Chao slowly turned his head towards Wei Ying, eyes holding a menacing glint. “What are you going on about? Where did you get the nerve to say such ridiculously pretentious words?”</p><p>This prompted another loud laugh from Wei Ying. He clasped his sides, as if it hurt from laughing so much. A shiver ran through Wangji’s name. Wei Ying was dangerous like this. Dangerous for Wen Chao, but equally though on another plane dangerous for Wangji as well.</p><p>“Pfft, ridiculously pretentious? Really? But those are the exact same words that Wen Mao, founder of <em>your</em> sect, according to those scriptures <em>you</em> made us memorize,” he said, smirking. His grin widened when Wen Chao bristled but made no reply. “Oh, there was this other one… what was it again—Right! ‘Those who insult famous cultivators of the Wen Clan must be punished by execution!’ Well, then, you can go die now,” he added, the last bit of his speech cut by his own chortling.</p><p>Give it to Wei Ying to still have fun even in the most eccentric situations. Wangji felt himself fall a bit deeper.</p><p>Wen Chao took the bait of the offense, lunging at Wei Ying, making himself completely vulnerable without his guard, Wen Zhuliu, by his side. Wei Ying leaped up to the islet to put some distance between him and Wen Zhuliu, Wen Chao blindingly following him. With lips still upturned, Wei Ying twirled easily around to dodge the attack, snatching Wen Chao’s sword and holding it against his neck. “Don’t move!” he said, pressing the sword against Wen Chao. </p><p>Wen Zhuliu was about to step forward but his master stopped him immediately. “Don’t move, Don’t move!” he said, panicked.</p><p>Finally having the upper-hand, Wei Ying was about to say something again but was cut by a loud rumbling. “Jiang Cheng, is it an earthquake?” he asked, but only the islet was moving. His answer came in the form of the islet finally revealing its true self, a large tortoise. It was none other than the beast Wen Chao was trying to find. </p><p> It walked towards the shore, the people backing slowly to get away. Wangji, along with a few others, remained frozen. It extended its neck, standing at its full height. The high ceiling of the cave made sense now. It turned its large head towards the people on top on its large shell. Panic swelled in Wangji, but in the other hand, he also had trust that Wei Ying could easily handle himself. He could not care less for the other man with him.</p><p>All of a sudden, Wen Chao’s idiocy won again. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Wen Zhuliu! Why aren’t you helping me yet? Help me!”</p><p>This startled the beast, and along with it came the chaos.</p><p>The disciples tried to get their hands on possible weapons to fight off the beast, but Wangji’s eyes remained on the man still above the shell of the tortoise. He dodged when the head attacked with its fangs bared, leaping back to the shore.</p><p>A shrill scream sounded among the turmoil. There, on another part of the shore, was Wang Lingjiao, directing Wen’s hot branding iron at MianMian. Everything was in disorder, and all the crazed woman was thinking about was her absurd jealousy.</p><p>Wangji started to run towards them, but he was too late. The scent of burnt flesh was sharp in his nose and the pained scream accompanying it hurt his ears. However, the scream was from Wei Ying, who hastily ran towards the lady, making the iron sear his skin instead. </p><p>Jiang Wanyin came to strike the crown of Wang Lingjiao’s head, and she was about to reiterate, but Wen Chao was already running to where they came from. “JiaoJiao! Come! Let’s get out of here!”</p><p>The Wens ran out, but before anyone could follow them, they cut off the vines. They even had the audacity to cover up the hole with stones. Dead silence blanketed over the hesitant faces of the young disciples trapped inside the cave. </p><p>Wangji watched as Wei Ying approached MianMian, who was now crying in her hands. He comforted her, and a pang of hurt in his chest made itself known. Wei Ying, at that moment, decided to look up, locking gazes with Wangji. Afraid that the boy might be able to read his thoughts, he looked away, walking back towards the lake. </p><p>“Lan Zhan, where are you going?” he asked.</p><p>Without looking back, Wangji answered in the most stable voice he could muster, “There is another way out.” He hoped that the hurt in his voice went unnoticed by Wei Ying. </p><p>“How could you tell?”</p><p>“There are leaves in the pool,” he replied, remembering the stray red leaf afloat the pool of water, a bright flaw against the murk.</p><p>A little while later, they were huddled near the shore, planning how to go out through the hole behind the beast that Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin found when they dove earlier. Everyone had managed to go out, but suddenly, the beast stirred, trapping both Wangji and Wei Ying inside. The two of them managed to crawl into a tiny space further into the cave, but not without one of the beasts' fangs catching onto Wangji’s leg.</p><p>Now, completely alone with two beasts, one resting against their exit and the other leaning against the cave wall, Wangji had no idea what to do. His injured leg made itself known once more, and when Wei Ying inspected it, they were not surprised to find it worsened. </p><p>Wangji’s head thumped as he leaned back, eyes closed. He opened them when he heard rustling, and heat pooled in his gut when he saw Wei Ying <em>undressing</em>. </p><p>“What are you doing?!” he shouted, scandalized. He can feel his blood leaving his face, instead rushing to his abdomen, but he made no move to turn away from the <em>show </em>Wei Ying was giving him. His hands itched do <em>something</em> as sweat formed in his palms, so he instead diverted it to fumbling the cloud pendant of his forehead ribbon, trying to fix its already perfect state, feeling the beads of sweat that started to form there as well. It was as if to remind himself of the meaning of the ribbon: <em>to restrain</em>. </p><p>Wei Ying spared him a glance. “What do you think? I’m stripping,” he said nonchalantly, as if it was an everyday occurrence and not possibly a result of being stranded inside a cave with a large tortoise while enduring the burn on his chest.</p><p>Remembering Wei Ying’s injury, Wangji swept his eyes over his chest. The clothes surrounding the wound was charred. Carefully removing his robes, the burnt flesh revealed a sickening clump of red and black, a stark contrast against porcelain skin above toned muscle and distinct collarbones. Wangji wanted to gulp, but all his muscles froze. </p><p>Seeing where Wangji’s eyes lingered, Wei Ying hurriedly covered his chest with his arms in an overexaggerated manner. “Hanguang-Jun! That was very vulgar of you,” he giggled sultrily. He stepped closer to Wangji’s now alternating red-and-white face then whispered, “Now that the shirts are gone, let’s remove the trousers.”</p><p><em>Too much, too much, too much, </em>Wangji panicked internally, suddenly reminded of the reckless kiss at Phoenix Mountain; and in his haste, he coughed up a mouthful of blood. </p><p>At that, Wei Ying straightened back up, smiling kindly down at him. “There, the bad blood’s gone now. No need to thank me,” he said with a wink, proceeding to wear his robes once again.</p><p>Wangji felt weirdly relieved, displeased, and grateful all at once. He wiped off the blood using his own robes, not minding the way red did not look right against white at all. The blood against the pure silk and the intricate swirls of clouds seemed like a bad omen. ofSitting up, he watched as Wei Ying fetched the perfume bag he acquired from MianMian earlier. </p><p>Sulking and Wangji were two concepts on the opposite sides of a plane. It was not something Wangji would do, but the thought of Wei Ying and MianMian left a bitter taste in his tongue.</p><p>“I knew this would come useful one day. Let’s see if there are any helpful herbs here, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, oblivious to the other’s turmoil. “I’m going to have to thank her properly once we get back,” he added, and Wangji sunk even more to himself.</p><p>“Did you really have to flirt at anyone you meet?” Wangji could not help but blurt out.</p><p>Wei Ying frowned in confusion. “Like what I did to you earlier? I did that to remove the blood in your throat, it would be bad to keep it in,” he said, moving closer to Wangji’s injured leg. “Besides, I’m not into men, Lan Zhan,” he continued with a sly grin.</p><p>Wangji scoffed as an excuse to escape that gaze. “Ridiculous,” he spat out. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I’m ridiculous. Now, do you have any rope or ribbon?” he quickly inspected his body, which made Wangji feel self-conscious, another thing he had <em>never</em> felt before. “Hey, your forehead ribbon might do the trick. Come on, remove it.”</p><p>Before Wangji could voice out his protest, the other had already snatched it from him, tying a branch he found on his leg, pressing gently but firmly against the wood to secure it.</p><p>Lans were characterized with wearing a forehead ribbon that signified their chastity. Letting one touch it meant that they were trusting a whole part of themselves to them. It was only meant for someone they truly loved and cherished. Wangji felt heat creep up his neck and ears at the thought of Wei Ying as his fated person. </p><p>Wei Ying waved off his discomfort. “What? Surely this is an emergency,” he said.</p><p>Wangji could not do anything aside from sitting stiffly while Wei Ying did his work on his leg. He observed him, how he scrunched his nose a little from concentration the way he did during the time he copied Virtue and Conduct back at Library Pavillon. Sadness washed over Wangji at the thought of the state of his home when he left, completely wrecked. </p><p>To divert his thoughts, he dragged his attention back at the boy tending to his wounds. He stared at the face that he thought of every morning he woke up, every night in his dreams, even when he tended to the bunnies that Wei Ying sneaked in Cloud Recesses as a “parting gift” to Wangji. He allowed himself to indulge in this intimacy, but when his eyes focused lower, specifically at his chest, he could not help himself but take a few herbs from the packet and placing it at his wound.</p><p>“Ah!” Wei Ying yelped in surprise and pain, hand hovering protectively at his wound as he continued to hiss. Wangji watched him wordlessly.</p><p>“What? Don’t look at me like that, Lan Zhan. I get hurt all the time. I’m a man, it’s alright for me to bear scars. MianMian, on the other hand, is a really pretty maiden. It would not be good for her and her confidence to be marred like this,” he said, still massaging the area around the wound. Thankfully, he did not remove the herbs Wangji forcefully put on it.</p><p>He sat a few meters beside Wangji. If he was brave enough, he would have told him to scoot closer so he could feel his warmth. But Wangji was not, and all he could do was turn a little to face him.</p><p>“Also, if you look at it from another perspective, this would mean that she would never forget the man that saved her. Right? It’s quite…” he stalled, thinking of a good word to describe it.</p><p>Anger clouded Wangji’s brain once again, shoving Wei Ying roughly, “So you also knew she would remember you for the rest of her life!”</p><p>Jealousy was an ugly thing. Even Wangji was no match against it.</p><p>Wei Ying could only give him an incredulous look. “Seriously, Lan Zhan, what did I ever do to you? I already know you hated me, no need to shove me. It hurts,” he complained, increasing the distance between them.</p><p>Wangji wanted to grip his hair in frustration. He groaned instead, closing his eyes again. </p><p>“What’s wrong with you today? You are really unlike your usual self,” Wei Ying commented. <em>You did this to me, </em>Wangji answered miserably in his head.</p><p>Still with eyes closed, Wangji replied, “If you do not have any malicious intentions, then do not go around flirting with others. They might get the wrong idea.” He did not know what came over him, but since they were the only two here, might as well test how dense Wei Ying could be.</p><p>“Ha? But I did not even flirt with you. Unless…” he trailed off, making Wangji’s eyes open to give him a tired look.</p><p>“...Unless, Lan Zhan, you like MianMian?” he finished, voice uncharacteristically soft. Wangji did not meet the way he clenched his hand on his robe.</p><p><em>Oh</em>, Wangji dumbly thought. </p><p>
  <em>You are both clever and stupid at the same time, it was both adorable and infuriariting. How could you think I like her when it is you who was making me feel this way? </em>
</p><p>And then, like a switch flipped, Wangji’s thoughts went the complete opposite side. </p><p>
  <em>Or maybe you do not want the idea of me liking you? Do you like MianMian that the idea of me liking her annoys you? Was that why you would rather flirt with her than with me?</em>
</p><p>He did not speak any of this aloud. After a few awkward beats, he muttered, “Do not speak of such nonsense.”</p><p>The silence that followed between them was suffocating, but Wangji would rather choke in it than face Wei Ying’s admittance of liking the LanlingJin disciple. </p><p>The awkwardness soon dissipated, and for the next three days, they exchanged conversations. It was easy, talking to Wei Ying and being vulnerable as he shared what has transpired a few days ago. They bantered occasionally, Wangji thought it had already became part of their routine. It felt nice, despite the consequences, spending time with Wei Ying like this. One time, he even thought of how this would also be their routine if ever they got married, but Wangji had to remind himself that Wei Ying liked MianMian, and that he was only tolerating Wangji’s presence seeing as they were both currently trapped.</p><p>They both grew even more tired than they were when they arrived because of the lack of something to eat. Fortunately, they were practicing inedia to conserve their energy. However, even that has its limits. </p><p>At the fourth day, the two of them devised a plan. They could not sit idly, waiting whatever comes first: death or salvation from the outside world. Using the strings from the bows left on the ground, Wei Ying tied the ends of the strings to make a long one. He told Wangji it would be good to use Chord Assassination, GusuLan’s most powerful fighting technique, in order to kill the Xuanwu of Slaughter, as they had concluded the nature of the beast in one of their conversations. </p><p>Wei Ying presented to be the one going inside the tortoise’s shell to tie the chord, and Wangji would pull it from the outside. Doing their mission was understandably difficult; it was, after all, a four-hundred-year-old beast. But they worked perfectly in sync, and after what felt like decades of hell, they were successful. </p><p>The hope that rose after transformed to desperation when they found out that the carcass covered their exit. Dragging their exhausted body away from the lake and back to the wall they stayed at earlier. Before they even made it, though, Wei Ying lost his footing, almost collapsing to the ground if not for Wangji catching him on time.</p><p>His skin, Wangji noted, was warm, <em>too warm</em> to be considered normal. To affirm his suspicions, he placed the back of his hand on Wei Ying’s forehead.</p><p>Wei Ying certainly has fever.</p><p>It was not surprising, what with the previous exertions his body had faced and his barely treated wound. Even when Wei Ying has exited the tortoise’s body, he had been acting strange.</p><p>“Lie down,” he told him, and Wei Ying complied quietly. He must have been really sick. Wangji promptly took his hand, passing his own spiritual energy. </p><p>Wei Ying closed his eyes as he sat up abruptly, dizzy from the sudden motion. “No, Lan Zhan. You barely have any left.”</p><p>Wangji has no more energy left in him for an argument. “Lie back down,” he said, and maybe Wei Ying’s exhaustion got the best of him as he followed.</p><p>But Wei Ying was Wei Ying, and a delirious Wei Ying was even more difficult to handle. Wangji thought he may be feverish as well for thinking that even that was as equally captivating as any other parts of Wei Ying.</p><p>“Let me borrow your lap,” he said with a slur. Wangji did not understand why he was still fighting off his drowsiness.</p><p>“Wei Ying, sleep,” he said, continuing his task of passing his spiritual energy. Soon, he did fall asleep, and Wangji moved his head on his lap like he wished.</p><p>Wangji was dangerously and absolutely smitten.</p><p>He stirred too much in his sleep, but Wangji found that he did not mind it. He thought whether it would also be like that if they shared a bed. <em>No, </em>Wangji mentally scolded himself, chasing the thought away before it got out of hand.</p><p>Before he woke up, however, Wangji gathered a few leaves and rested the man’s head on the pile. He was still incoherent for the next few hours even with the spiritual energy Wangji passed to him.</p><p>“Lan Zhan.”</p><p>He remained silent.</p><p>“Lan Wangji,” he whined.</p><p>Wangji still did not say anything.</p><p>“Hanguang-Jun?”</p><p>“Lan-er gege~”</p><p>“Lan Zhan, I’m bored.”</p><p>“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, it’s boring.”</p><p>“Aaaaaahhhh,” he sighed loudly.</p><p>Wangji pursed his lips. “What do you want me to do?”</p><p>“Would you sing me a song if I told you to?” he said, the last part of the sentence dragging, a clear sign that he was already at the clasp of sleep.</p><p>At that, Wangji froze. </p><p>A few months ago, after Wangji had finally acknowledged the growing affections he had for the chatty man, he devoted his free time in making a song. His <em>xiong zhang</em> overheard him play it once while he was passing his quarters. He smiled at Wangji, enjoying the flush on his ears as he commented, “That was a really nice song, Wangji. You must have been <em>very</em> inspired to make such great music.” Its tone was overflowing with yearning and longing, of want and desire and of wanting to fly free. It encompassed everything Wangji wanted; it encompassed Wei Ying.</p><p>He started to sing. Wei Ying was surprised, expecting him to call him “shameless”, but soon relaxed. Wangji poured all his unsaid emotions in each words and melody, the echoes of it reverberating around the cave. </p><p>Too soon, the song finished. He exhaled sharply at the effort. Wangji looked at Wei Ying, who he thought was already asleep. He still had his eyes half-open when he asked, “What is the name of the song?”</p><p>Wangji watched as his eyes fluttered close. “Wuji,” he muttered, as if it was a secret only Wei Ying had the right to be let on. No one would also know, not even Wei Ying, that Wangji willingly let him play with his hair, twirling it in his fingers before sleep finally claimed him.</p><p>He fell asleep as well, and the moment he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that Wei Ying was no longer beside him. It then just registered to him that he was back at Cloud Recesses.</p><p>If Wangji had known that that would be the last time he would spend a peaceful time with Wei Ying, he would have stayed inside that dreadful cave. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*xiongzhang = elder brother term of respect for a man of about the same age<br/>*gege = literally means big brother, but here wei ying uses it as some sort of endearment ("er" is two/second because wangji is the second young master of the lan household)<br/>*suibian = means "whatever"; when wei ying told wangji his sword is "whatever", hence wangji's confusion<br/>*"ride your swords" = in some novels (such as mdzs), cultivators stand atop their flying swords and ride them as a form of transportation </p><p>aaaandd that's what we have for the second chapter!! this chapter was written by precious (cjdsjmlyx) as well. </p><p>scream at/with us on twitter!! <a href="https://twitter.com/cirquedeluna">cirquedeluna</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lanistowei">lanistowei</a><br/>for questions, clarifications, and violent reactions, hit us (mostly solera) up on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/cirquedeluna">cc</a></p><p>also, as was mentioned in the story summary, this work is going to be updated roughly every two weeks. both solera and i have a shit ton of workloads from school but we'll try our best not to update later than two weeks &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>welcome to the first of the many angst arcs in this fic.</p>
<p>still wangji's pov.</p>
<p>im so sorry for the lack of sakuatsu in latest chapters, the background has to be provided.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Sunshot Campaign was set in motion by the Four Great Clans. They intend to strike the sun down, it's time for sunset. The Wens had it coming for them, the line they had been toeing along for years has been crossed, shot all the way to hell. The establishment of supervisory Wen offices all across the region was a thinly veiled show of power, a reminder of which clan currently holds all of them by the neck. The massacre of the YunmengJiang Sect in Lotus Pier was the last straw.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wangji was struck with worry. The campaign had been going on for months already and they had liberated QingheNie from the control of the supervisory offices, it now served as Heijian Front, their base camp, as long as the Langya Front in LanlingJin was still captive. The last time he saw Wei Ying was when the man was knocked out cold and feverish, using his lap as a pillow in Xuan Wu Cave. That was the first and last time he got to admire Wei Ying up close without any inhibitions. Damned he may be as he remembered running his knuckles down the very same face in his dreams. Wei Ying was beautiful. And Wangji was but a man yearning for his love. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was half a year ago. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The only news he heard after the incident in Yunmeng was that every single one of its disciples were annihilated to the point of extinction, including their sect leaders Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu. They had suspicions that the mongrel Wen Chao would want to pluck out the thorn in his side and strike it at the head immediately. What they didn't take into consideration was how far the Wens will take it. Murder is morally correct, it seems, if you're on top of the food chain. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He remembered how his heart lurched down to his stomach that he almost left the Frost Room if it wasn't for Lan Qiren mentioning that everybody did die except the Jiang Trio. That was the first time he went to the Cold Springs not to heal, at least not physically, but to stop himself from lashing out of fear and anger. He remembered clearly the split second it took for his fury to bubble and if it wasn't for Xichen pinning him down with a look, he would've flown over to Qishan Wen in a heartbeat. <em> Do not succumb to rage </em>, one of Gusu Lan's 3000 rules in the Wall of Discipline and yet stubbornly obedient Wangji did not even feel an ounce of regret for his almost outburst. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> How dare they hurt Wei Ying, how dare they hurt his beautiful and beloved Wei Ying. They will pay.</em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>And pay they did as the Four Great Clans slowly started to chip away at the Wen's defenses. They were currently at the bottom of the stone steps of Nightless City, staring up at the Palace of the Sun and the Flames. Wangji, Xichen, and Jiang Cheng led a siege to the palace for the retrieval of the swords taken away during the indoctrination attempt by the Wens months ago. The very same indoctrination that got him stuck in the cave with Wei Ying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hanguang-jun," he turned around, white robes moving with him. Donning the unmistakable violet jianxiu robes and silver bell of Yunmeng Jiang along with a pair of sharp eyes possessing the intensity of bolts of lightning, the new sect leader of the once fallen Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng stood tall. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement and respect. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sect leader regarded him with ambiguous intensity that Wangji felt simultaneously invaded and vulnerable for a moment before the other thrusted out a sheathed sword with a familiar gold and mahogany hilt, "It's his. And it won't open."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What do you want me to do with it? If it won't budge for you, it won't either for me."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't know what I should do with it, Wei Wuxian still hasn't shown his face back in Yunmeng. I'll break his legs once he comes back, the audacity to come back after disappearing for months when there is a war and worrying me and <em> A-jie </em> to no end." <em> Ah. Right, Wei Ying's still not back. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hesitantly took Suibian and held it in his hands firmly, gripping the hilt tightly as if by doing so he'll be able to also hold the hands of its master. He misses him so much. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you want to take it for the time being? Put it in the Library Pavilion for safekeeping,” he threw the Yunmeng sect leader a glance before offering the hilt of Suibian back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're his brother. You're the one who should be safekeeping it for his return.” Calm and calculated yet fierce and cutting, Jiang Cheng stared at him and thumbed at Zidian, the purple whip family heirloom of the Jiangs that was currently coiled into a ring, and Wangji subconsciously wondered if the other was blaming him for his <em> shixiong </em>’s disappearance. The Wens, after all, only preyed on the Jiangs because Wei Wuxian insisted to help Wangji after the Wens burned the Cloud Recesses. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leveled back a stare until he felt his <em> xiong zhang </em> behind him, “Wangji, time to go. We may have incapacitated Nightless City for a while but reinforcements will come pouring in soon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hanguang-jun, Zewu-jun. I will be heading back first.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jiang Cheng took Suibian before mounting his sword and took off for Qinghe Nie’s Unclean Realm, not looking back.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The flute. He knows that flute. He heard it once during the night-hunt on Phoenix Mountain. Built to attract prey to the flute player, luring anything and <em> anyone </em> to follow its song. He once fell victim to the sultry rise and fall of its tune, very much similar to its infuriating owner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> "Lan-er gege, your guqin sounds really calming." Wei-ying still has a fever. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> "Mn. Wangji is a guqin, it's designed to calm people's qi and to suppress resentful energy." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> "Aiya, my Chenqing is very good for setting traps.Very obedient but sometimes it tends to be … hm… naughty. Plays on its own. Lan zhan, stop moving! I’m tryna sleep..” Is he aware that he’s on my lap? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> "Chenqing is your flute, I presume?" </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> "Yes, very good dizi. Shame, I didn't bring it here, would've used it to rain hell on that Wen dog's ass." I want to kiss Wei Ying, Wei Ying with a fever is cute. But he’s sick, I hope somebody gets us out of Xuan Wu Cave soon, his condition might get worse... </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was Chenqing. He won’t be mistaken, not after it catalyzed his shameful act in Phoenix Mountain. Wangji suppressed a blush from rising as he felt his lips tingling, remembering the ghost of soft lips molding with his own. Memories of heated whimpers and hands gripping back crimson ribbon and black locks in a ponytail surfaced from the back of his mind like second nature. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Shameless, Wangji. Absolutely shameless.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wei Ying.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What!? Wei Wuxian? He’s here!? That fucking moron—” He raised an arm to stop the fuming half of Yunmeng Prides. If Wei Ying really was here then they should approach carefully or else he might flee if he was made aware of their presence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jiang <em> zongshu </em> , you must calm down. This is still a Wen supervisory office. If we barge in thoughtlessly, not only will Wen Chao be able to escape but you might also not be able to talk to Wei Ying,” Wangji spoke calmly for a man whose heart was thumping loudly at the prospect of seeing that provokingly attractive face again. Jiang Cheng scoffed and waved away the arm stopping him from storming in. Patting his <em> jianxiu </em> robes and then unsheathing his sword Sandu, Jiang Cheng stared Wangji down as he kicked the doors open. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How sure are you that idiot Wei Wuxian is here?” swords at the ready in front of them, they proceeded inside the small outpost. The silence was eerie; after all,this was where Wen Chao supposedly fled to after his brother Wen Xu’s demise. Wangji honestly expected lavish and obnoxious displays of wealth all over the place, as Wens tend to do. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The flute. I heard it once in Phoenix Mountain.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jiang Cheng’s open palm alight with a ball of flame guided them through the dark. The flute playing from somewhere above and outside served as a careful reminder of where they were and what they needed to do. Jiang Cheng stopped in front of him and he involuntarily tensed in turn, contemplating whether to prepare for a hand seal or pull his guqin out of its case. His hold on Bichen tightened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are those…” If Jiang Cheng’s sharp inhale and the flame slowly extinguishing from his palm were anything to go by, Wangji guessed they either gave away their position or it was Wen Chao who gave away his. But what surprised him was that Jiang Cheng looked equal parts confused and terrified. Wangji brought out a flame talisman and lit it up between his forefinger and middle finger. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wangji stepped closer to the discovered talisman on the door that made his companion halt in his steps. The writings were familiar yet at the same time unrecognizable. It looked like every other talisman they were using, runes written on a yellow paper. But what rendered it unrecognizable for him was what was written on the talisman and what was used to write on it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A smiling face written in blood? How is this a talisman? Is this even working?” Jiang Cheng was about to step close and pull it off from the door when a scream suddenly rang from inside. The two men did not have to take a bet to know that it was Wen Chao. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jiang Cheng was about to kick the door open once again but Wangji beat him to it by silently opening it and paying no mind to the annoyed glare he received from the other. The scene that greeted them inside was chilling enough that the air was vastly different from outside of the room. It felt as if all life was sucked out of the room. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jiang Cheng choked. The resentful energy circulating inside the room was so palpable they could almost taste it. Wangji can feel it crawling across his skin. The dark aura was violent enough to shroud the room in complete darkness even though he knew the moon was out tonight and the window was wide open. If it wasn’t for Yunmeng Jiang’s silver bell of clarity and Gusu Lan’s robes and its stitched incantations, both of them would’ve succumbed to the darkness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least three fierce corpses were inside the room. They were clamoring towards a certain spot, one where there’s a wriggling and shouting someone. Wen Zhuliu was standing to the side, pinned by some invisible force as he watched his master get devoured. Wangji wasn’t surprised when Zidian latched to the unaware bodyguard and dragged him outside the room, purple lightning crackling from the whip.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Leave Wen Chao there. He deserved it. I have unfinished business with this one,” Wangji didn’t comment because the sect leader was entitled to the brimming pain and rage within those words. As they left the room shut, it was only then did Wangji realize what the talisman was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wens have a penchant for using spirit-repelling talismans, they rely on it heavily to make night-hunts easier instead of actually hunting. Whoever the talisman maker was, they were aware of this. Wei Ying was aware of this. And Wangji didn’t know what this feeling simmering in his gut was when he realized that the new talisman reversed its usual repelling instead. It was a spirit-attraction talisman.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has the inkling that Wei Ying was tampering with something forbidden and tabooed. And as much as how attracted and proud he was of the other, he hoped he’s wrong. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And if he saw fleeing familiar crimson and black robes as its wearer ran away from where they were but told Jiang Cheng none of it, then he didn’t break the Wall of Discipline’s <em> Do not tell lies</em>. </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It is now seven months since he last saw Wei Ying and a month after Wen Chao’s assassination. A week after he and Jiang Cheng found the fierce corpse carnage in Wen Chao’s supervisory office, the Four Great Clans received news from the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wei Wuxian had returned. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wanted to rush to Lotus Pier as soon as possible but his uncle needed his and his <em> xiong zhang </em>’s assistance in maintaining the Gusu Front. They were still at war after all. And so, another month passed without him seeing Wei Ying. What he wouldn’t give just to see Wei Ying’s face again, he might even allow the man to tease him like he usually would. Anything. The yearning was starting to feel painful by now. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? Love?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s starting to question himself if this is the beginnings of a withdrawal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Sunshot Campaign was nearing its end. The Langya Front was finally liberated and earned them two base camps now. The Jiangling Front near Yunmeng, led by Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, has also joined the fray and added more manpower. Almost every clan in the region has been liberated from the power of the Wens, the only one left was Nightless City where the sun never sets and the remaining survivors of the Qishan Wen sect have turned tail to. Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Jin Guangyao swore an oath to brotherhood and formed the Venerated Triad uniting three of the most powerful sects in China. It’s time to end this prolonged years of tyranny. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking at his new brothers by oath, he ached. Where his <em> xiong zhang </em> found companionship and security during a nationwide conflict, his longing for the one he loves intensified. Not being able to know if Wei Ying was okay, if he was holding up fine back in Lotus Pier, if he also wanted to see him as much as Wangji did; it hurts. Not a day has passed in fighting this war that Wangji wasn't also fighting the urge to abandon his post and ride his sword to Yunmeng for the only man who has ever brought him calm amidst his own chaos. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After this conflict is resolved, Wangji will say it. He’ll confess to Wei Ying and hope for the best. Nevermind if the other said that he’s not interested in men months ago, he’s willing to work for it. He’s stubborn to a fault and once he starts something, he’s going to see it through the end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was nighttime when everything crashed down before it began. It was 8 PM in Gusu, an hour before his clan retire for the night, when Xichen entered his bedroom clutching a letter with Yunmeng Jiang’s nine lotus seal. It was rare for his brother to be out of the Frost Room this late in the night, ever since he became the sect leader after their father passed away and the war started, they had less time spent being brothers. He would’ve questioned if there was a sneak attack like last week but the worry set deep in Xichen’s brows told him it wasn’t war related. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Xichen could only watch as his brother left the Quiet Room, the letter laid crumpled on the bed. Sighing deeply, he put the lights out of the lamps in his brother’s bedroom and gathered the blanket from the bed before heading out as well. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wei Wuxian has defected from Yunmeng Jiang sect.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was the first in a long time that Wangji spent the night in the Library Pavilion. </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Lan Wangji was twenty years old and currently suspected to be a father. People were staring at him from all sides of the plaza. When he discovered that Wei Wuxian took refuge with the remaining Qishan Wens in the Burial Mounds a few weeks ago, he didn’t go looking for him. If Wei Ying didn’t want to be discovered, then he would respect that decision. He knew Wei Ying has a good head on his shoulders, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. Wei Ying has a good moral compass, Wangji would trust him with his life. However, when rumors of a Yiling Patriarch started surfacing here in Yiling near the Burial Mounds where he also knew a certain rambunctiously carefree and devastatingly handsome someone was staying, the one he’s been missing, the sect leaders grew weary if it was another harbinger of war.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So what does a man deprived of his beloved for a year do? He volunteered to check things out and let the adults sort out the final leg of the war. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>What he didn’t ask for was a bawling child sat on the ground when he asked if the said child was lost. He was trying to be nice but years of perfecting an immaculate poker face due to his clan’s teachings of avoiding excess emotions led to this, scaring a child to tears. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A-Yuan! A-Yuan! A-Yuan, where are you!?” Wangji felt a lot of emotions coursing from the tip of his toes up to the top of his head. He knows it’s him and as he turned around, he was met with a frantic gentleman, with his long flowing black hair let loose that was usually seen before secured in a crimson ponytail and <em> oh my… </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was used to seeing Wei Ying in his black outer robes with hints of red inners and purple belt adornments to show his relation to the Yunmeng Jiang sect. Nothing prepared him for the sight of a god sent down from the Heavenly Realm barreling towards him clad in black armor robes, inner and outer robes a startling mix of the dark and flowy black night sky and the fierce and intimidating red hot lava. Seeing Wei Ying’s leather forearm guards kickstarted something unholy in him that he would prefer not to name.  <em> Of all the things that are holy. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>His ancestors would be having a fit in their graves if only they knew all the things he would very much like to do to the other after not being able to see him for a year. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lan Zhan?” <em> Wangji, do not smile. I beg you, please restrain yourself. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wei Ying,” If Wangji wasn’t trained to restrain unnecessary emotions, he might’ve rushed over to the other in a heartbeat. The tips of his eyes and lips that usually retain the hint of a smile had become noticeably colder and paler but Wei Ying was still as beautiful the last time he saw him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The child was Wen Yuan. One of the last survivors of the “good Wens." Wei Ying rescued them from the death row in LanlingJin. He said that it wasn’t fair for the innocent to be dragged into the mess that Wen Ruohan created in his greed for power. Something stirred in Wangji’s chest as he realized the fact that despite all the unspeakable and horrendous misdeeds that the QishanWen has done not only to him but to the people dearest to him, he maintained a clear mind and unclouded eyes and saw something worth saving in a branch family of the Wens. Wei Ying will always be Wei Ying and never will he hold the innocent accountable. Love is brave and love is kind and Wei Ying is so much more than that. Wen Yuan took an instant liking to Wangji once Wei Ying said that he's a close friend of his and hasn't let go of him since. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wei Ying was currently showing him around in the Burial Mounds. He met Wen Qing and a reanimated Wen Ning who was more or less coherent for a fierce corpse and Wangji was secretly glad some people were there for his beloved even if he can't, it lightened the weight in his chest a bit. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Where's Suibian?" He has been meaning to ask earlier back at the plaza but oddly enough, one of the top cultivators in his generation was walking around in broad daylight without his prized sword but instead a brown flute with red tassels on one end. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh? Why look for it, isn't Chenqing pretty enough for you?" a bit taken aback by the slightly cheeky response, Wangji gave Wei Ying a sidelong glance, an eyebrow raised. They stopped walking by now and while Wei Ying crossed his arms to tilt his chin up defiantly, the long lost mischievous glint in his eyes igniting once again. But as much as he would indulge the other anything he desires, this was not the time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Wei Ying." He’s mad, he is. Because honestly, how careless can Wei Ying get? He could be in perilous situations and there wouldn’t be anything to help him since he’s now waltzing about without his sword. He knows the other was skilled, brilliant even, but still. Though as fingers smoothed out the frown set deep in his brows and as deep blood-red eyes stared back at him, he can feel the irritation fluctuating and heat creeping up to his face that he has to break skin contact and look away to will the blush down. <em>Get a grip, you’re a Lan. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Stop frowning Lan Zhan, such a handsome face and yet you're always frowning." Wangji stared back again, unimpressed, "Okay it's back there in my cave. Wouldn't want to dirty my dearest sword, eh?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're a cultivator. One's sword is an extension of one's body."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Aiya, Lan Zhan, don’t be so nitpicky. Look, look! Faithful Chenqing is so pretty, helped me master a new technique!” Wei Ying gestured him forward and leaned closer, as if telling a secret, “Remember what I said before about manipulating resentful energy to help us instead of suppressing it? I did it, Lan Zhan! I’m using Chenqing’s music to make them do my bidding. Isn’t it fantastic!?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Be careful. You may be tampering around with something irreversible and I won’t be here to help you." If Wangji sounded genuinely worried, then so be it. He fears Wei Ying will get wounded by this newly found double-edged sword.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Aww Lan Zhan, you do care about me! Don't worry, always am." And when the smile didn’t reach Wei Ying’s eyes, when the smile didn't look right on Wei Ying’s face, when the smile looked almost painful to look at, Wangji hurts with him. </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>An entire season passed. Autumn witnessed Jiang Yanli marrying into the LanlingJin sect, an immediate heir next in line to Jin Zixuan and Wei Ying’s martial nephew, Jin Rulan, was born soon after. Autumn is a time for transformation. Everyone had been adjusting well in the aftermath of the Sunshot Campaign. The remaining Wens’ fate was still out for judgement as their whereabouts were currently inaccessible by outsiders and Wangji was not about to tell them that Wei Ying let him in freely. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But autumn is also a time of preparation. Preparation for the end and the sound of weeping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jin Zixuan’s death came as a shock to the cultivating community but more so to Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji. News about how the Yiling Patriarch was at fault for the loss of Lanling Jin’s heir came flying from all directions across the entirety of China. What followed soon after was chaos unimaginable for Lan Wangji’s state of mind and the pieces of the world that he was trying to helplessly put back for Wei Ying completely fell apart. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just like how Wei Wuxian managed to disobey almost all of Gusu's 3000 rules, how Wei Wuxian managed to break down Lan Zhan's stubbornly crafted walls, how only Wei Wuxian had the ability to drive Wangji to almost madness with yearning and desire, losing Wei Ying without being able to say goodbye was enough to drive Wangji into a painful, drunken stupor brought forth by the agony that he didn’t want to face sober.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Xichen and Uncle Qiren came home on that stormy autumn night, the ashen faces should’ve been a giveaway already. They left earlier in the evening, along with some clan members, when an urgent meeting was requested by the chief cultivator Jin Guangshan. Wangji would’ve gone with them but the bunnies needed to be fed before he slept. The bunnies were a gift from Wei Ying of course.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em> Shufu, Xiong zhang </em>. It’s late and yet you’ve only just returned. Is something the matter?” They were in the Library Pavilion, where the bunnies can roam undisturbed when feeding. Wangji had to convince his uncle to let him keep the black and white furballs who threatened him that it was against GusuLan’s teachings but Xichen vouched for him if ever he didn’t take responsibility for it. So here he was, fathering his prized gifts from his beloved. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the silence continued, he looked up from where he was watching the rabbits eat and hop around. Xichen was looking forlorn, as if mourning. Qiren’s lips were pursed. He’s not liking this devastated aura they are exuding.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The remnants of the Qishan Wen sect have been… <em> taken care of </em> earlier.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And really, Wangji should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve been prepared for it. Should’ve known that loving Wei Ying is going to hurt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“ …The Yiling Patriarch and his sister were also casualties of the encounter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But damn, does it hurt. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His stash of Emperor’s Smile, his late beloved’s favorite Gusu commodity, was emptied right away the instant they left him in the library. It was way past 9 PM and he’s drinking, and drinking, and drinking. One cup was enough to lower all his inhibitions, but a thousand bottles of the alcohol would never be enough to drown and cover the Wei Ying-shaped hole in his chest. Gusu Lan’s 3000 rules be damned, it won’t bring Wei Ying back nor stop him from the pain that will slam him awake every single waking day that from now on, Wei Wuxian will never come back. That from now on, the cold he felt from before he met Wei Ying is worse after having a taste of his warmth, only to be scrapped of it before he even got to indulge himself. He didn’t even get to say those three fated words. Not now, not ever. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stumbling, he went inside the room where he knew Gusu Lan kept things they got from Nightless City during the campaign. Pillaging is what he would say but they said it was spoils of war. It was at times like this when he wondered why this was considered morally right while Wei Ying’s was not. He minded the furballs skipping by his feet and tried to walk steadily towards the crate at the center of the room, as steady as a drunk man can be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The glint of the handle of QishanWen's branding iron under the Gusu moonlight was beckoning him forward. As he brought it out and heated it up under a lamp inside the room, he thought of Wei Ying. Of his witty banters, of his smart mouth, of his headstrong beliefs, of his carefree smile, of his pretty hair, of his pretty face, of his soft lips, of the suppleness of his skin. He longed. And he will, for a very long time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pain started blooming across his left pectoral. He pressed deeper, evening out the impression of the sun. Hissing after he removed the white hot iron away from his skin, Wangji can <em> feel </em> everything spilling out from within. Agony, regret, resentment, what ifs, tears, him. Stripped down to his very core with no one to hear the anguished cries of a lone soul torn into half, his better part forcibly taken away from him. The blood seeping through his robes cannot compare. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” he’s not, it’s not. And as the bunnies snuggled further toward his snow white robe-covered knees, he stroked their fur while tears dripped down his face. Because he knows that they know. Clever little things, just like Wei Ying. </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Overcome with grief, Wangji tried to act like everything was okay. Like he did not just lose what could possibly be the greatest love of his life. He continued being China’s Hanguang-jun. He cultivated, upheld his clan’s teachings, and didn’t stray far from Gusu. He proceeded with what his life was before everything. Before Wei Ying. But he can’t, for the life of him, ever remember what normalcy was like without the presence of an impulsive scoundrel that wormed his way into Wangji’s heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No one ever bothered to be privy as to why Wangji tolerated Wei Ying before. Because no one saw reason in Wei Ying's thought process except him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That pretense lasted for just a week and a half. He didn't know how and when but the next thing he knew, he's on his way to the last known inhabited area of the Yiling Patriarch. As he stepped on the soil of the dead, he resolved himself that this is goodbye. He loves him and nothing will change that. It will take long for everything to scab over but Wei Ying would want him to move forward. To be okay. The last one would be impossible because the only one to ever make it bearable for Wangji is now gone but for Wei Ying, he will try. He always will. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Burial Mounds was silent. For a place that housed the remnants of a power-hungry clan, it was silent. Baskets overturned, carts unattended, flames of the lanterns snuffed out, crops left unharvested, plants left untamed crawling all over the place, demolished and burnt huts, signs of a peaceful life interrupted strewn everywhere, a severe testament that its once occupants had left in a hurry. The last time he visited here, he recalled A-Yuan being buried by Wei Ying under a lot of carrots. Wen Ning and Wen Qing were tending to the crops. Others were stitching new clothes while others were building huts. It left a bad taste in his mouth that this place, once full of simple life, was now in ruins.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He willed himself to wade through unfinished hopes and dreams and entered what was once Wei Ying’s cave. And he knew he will find it empty but as he walked towards the empty living quarters and an unkempt bed made of hay, it still stung. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Coming here, all he wanted was the closure he never got. The abrupt ending in what would probably be the best parts of Wangji’s life was still reeling him in for a shock. But coming back only made memories of Wei Ying surge stronger than ever. He disobeyed his <em> shufu </em> already by coming here, he knew punishment was waiting back in Gusu but he still pushed forward with the visit. Under the stagnant air of loss and despair, the realization that the only good thing that was worth it in this world really is gone branded a permanent scar over his heart, bound to hurt forever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun brand in his chest started to hurt. The morning after the drunken branding, Wangji woke up with a similar marking with Wei Ying. Same brand in the same spot. This would later morph into soulmarks if the love was deep enough, a chosen sign of possession between fated pairs. It is a rare practice among lovers but one must have had immense devotion, love, and mutual respect to be allowed to be marked permanently as another’s. It is a sign that transcends the laws of time. A promise that no matter what, they will reach each other. And Wangji has and always will be Wei Ying’s. He spent that morning crying once again and Xichen found him weeping in the Library Pavilion, moaning in pain and heartbreak.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Winter is the season of waiting. Waiting for another chance at a new beginning. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“L-La… Chan…” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Wangji ended up heaving heavily for having found a barely alive Wen Yuan huddled under the bed of hay, sick and feverish after a week of being abandoned with no one to care for him, Lan Qiren will probably rain hell on him for dirtying his robes and improper posture and losing composure but at the moment no one pointed out that they were both crying, they must have sensed that both of them lost someone very special.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Going to such a place, bathed in the evilest across the land!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Having earlier association with the Yiling Patriarch!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bringing home and sparing this... this FILTH!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A whole day later, in the middle of Gusu Lan’s grounds, the moment he unmounted Bichen and passed the Wen child to the nearest clan member, he was forced on his knees by spiritual bindings. He looked up to Lan Qiren, hands formed into a hand seal, who looks in the middle of being disappointed and not knowing if he’s gonna believe what he was seeing. It was then and there that he vowed to protect Wen Yuan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Disobeying a direct order from a senior cultivator!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Disregarding Gusu Lan’s teachings!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just one strike is painful enough to last a lifetime. It would take a significant amount of time to recover. But here he was, being punished with 33 strikes from Gusu Lan’s discipline whip by his <em> xiong zhang </em> under the orders of his <em> shufu </em>. For sparing an innocent life with blood relation to the clan that ruled in tyranny for years. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will take responsibility for the child,” he calmly and firmly stated, not an ounce of pain and regret in his tone. The next strike came down even harsher. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Preposterous! Atrocious! Wangji, you’re the second young master of the Lans! Why such disgraceful behavior!?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will take responsibility for the child,” and what is Lan Wangji if not stubborn and passionate in what he believes in?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He raised his head from the ground, the whip still laying waste heavily on his back. When he heard the whimpers of the child cowering at the wooden steps of his bedroom, he soldiered on. He endured the pain licking the entirety of his body, the skin peeling open at his back, his dignity being stripped from being disciplined in front of his whole sect. He won’t let Wen Yuan suffer. He won’t make the same mistake again, he will shelter Wen Yuan, give him the love that the rest of them want to deprive the child of, and mold him into a person that Wei Ying would want him to be. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The scars never disappeared after the torture. And he will willingly bear them, no matter if he will be bedridden for years as result. He will accept them whole-heartedly, cementing his resolve for the child that will come to depend on him in the future. The 33 scars will later form into soulmarks, a testimony of how much of Wangji’s renewed love was dedicated to this child.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wen Yuan looked at him, tears in his eyes, snot from his nose, and lips wobbling in fear, he gave him a small smile. <em> It’s okay, I got you. </em></p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>33 blows from the punishment whip did leave him bedridden for at least a year and also forced him into seclusion. He cultivated in silence, meditating and copying Gusu Lan’s rules as his self-assigned punishment. Lan Qiren insisted that he shouldn’t anymore, that he was sorry for acting in a fit of anger and worry, and Wangji fully understood and said that there was nothing to be forgiven as his <em> shufu </em> only acted in the best interest of the clan and as a concerned family member. If Wangji was going to be a father, he needs to set a proper example. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His first year in seclusion passed by with only the two rabbits and A-Yuan as company. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Gusu Lan sect is not only prominent for their firm style in swordsmanship and prodigious arm strength from the required handstands in their clan teachings. They are also known widely for their usage of the qin language in cultivating; from the chord assasination technique to musical pieces known to suppress resentful energy and calm the qi to communicating with spirits. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Every Gusu clan member is proficient to a degree that they can ask basic questions using Inquiry and soothe murderous intent with a few notes from their guqin. But it is the Twin Jades of Gusu Lan that excel in making the guqin do their bidding. Lan Wangji, most notably. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Qin language is the main language used to communicate in Inquiry; the player asking and the spirits answering through notes and plucks on the strings of the qin. Inquiry summons and communicates with the souls of the deceased and the nearly deceased. And with how much proficiency and experience Wangji has for being known as the most prominent user of the guqin, the spirits he can summon cannot lie or avoid answering.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so, he tried for the first time. Clinging to that little hope that Wen Yuan, given the courtesy name Lan Sizhui after the adoption, ignited in him, Wangji tried and hoped for the slightest return of the message. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heart sank a little when the first session of Inquiry provided nothing. But he brushed it off, he would try another time. Almost all of his spiritual energy was depleted after being subjected to heavy injuries from the discipline whip. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another year passed in his seclusion and Sizhui grew a little bigger, the bunnies happier under the attention of two doting owners. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wangji decided to try for the 3rd time. He knelt in front of his table and brought out the guqin, hands familiar and gliding across the strings. Inhaling, he let his hands convey his yearning and started strumming. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was barely halfway into the intro of the song, already pouring almost all of his restored energy to widen the search for Wei Ying's spirit, when a thump sounded inside the Quiet Room. He paused and listened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right when he was about to strum again another thump resounded. Smiling, he retracted his hands from the qin and folded it atop his lap, “Come here, A-Yuan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tiny chubby hands gripped the doorway of his bedroom and round eyes peeked, “P-papa…” Wangji opened his arms and a child clutching the white bunny waddled inside, followed by the black bunny. The child’s hair was in a loose bun, round cheeks prominent as he stared up at his father. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is something wrong?” gently patting the head of his child, Lan Yuan brought the white bunny down and reached out his arms. Wangji indulged the four-year-old and placed him in his lap before placing his hands atop the guqin’s strings once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Papa has to do something for a while. You can sleep if you like.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And the clear hum of the instrument filled the air, his son nestling comfortably in the space between his legs. The plucking started slow and steady. The tune sounded as if it was reaching out to something, to someone. Wangji closed his eyes as his ears strained to hear. Under the moonlight, the yearning from the strings rang clear. He listened, long and hard, his fingers cramping from the strain of continuous playing. Wangji asked if he’s still here, if he’s okay wherever he is, if he can hear him. As the tune built up to an intense high before the diminuendo, he tried to say that he and A-Yuan are doing good. That they’re coping well, that A-Yuan was growing healthy, that he misses him, that A-Yuan still looks for him sometimes in his sleep. The song was nearing its end, the strong gliding across the strings slowing down as he listened for the voice that had already gone silent. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wangji startled when hands touched his cheeks and he opened his wet eyes, looking down at the only memory of Wei Ying he had left. Lan Yuan was sniffling while trying to reach his eyes, he bent down a little, “C-chen... qing… Papa, ch-chenqing… don’t cry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wangji played Wuji in the guqin for Lan Yuan, the song professing his love for Wei Ying never fails to put his son to sleep. As his son slumbered in his lap, he ran his palm up and down A-Yuan’s back comfortingly. He whispered to the vastness of his bedroom and the darkness of the night that he misses him too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Years passed, he got well enough to leave seclusion. He started going out of the Quiet Room once again. While the outside world can be pretty jarring, he bided his time in adjusting back to the cultivating society. He caught up in the current swing of things in no time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wei Ying’s martial nephew is about the same age as Sizhui, if not a few years younger. His son found a best friend in one of their clan members, Lan Jingyi if he’s not mistaken. A little bit rowdy, slightly noisy, prone to mischief, and it only made Wangji’s heart grow fonder because although loud as the kid may be, he knows he meant well for his friend. He also took comfort that Lan Jingyi probably reminds both of them of Wei Ying subconsciously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It came to a time where Sizhui grew old enough to accompany him to night-hunts, protective father instincts that surged up the moment his <em> xiong zhang </em> suggested it aside. The juniors were a bit scared of him the first time but when they heard Sizhui slipped up in calling him “papa” outside Cloud Recesses, they warmed up to him when they knew that their friend is related to the great Hanguang-jun. He patted Sizhui’s head and gently reprimanded him that a Lan must uphold courtesy and formality, that he may still call him Papa no matter what age, just not outside Cloud Recesses. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sometimes crossed paths with Wei Ying’s <em> shidi </em>, Yunmeng Jiang sect’s leader and Jin Ling’s other martial uncle, and although he still cannot accept that he led the siege against his own martial brother, he’s getting there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their nighttime tradition of listening to Wangji playing Wuji on his guqin while A-Yuan and the rabbits listened before sleeping continued. It was during one particularly exhausting night hunt on Dafan Mountain, on his 5th try on the Inquiry, that Sizhui asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hanguang-jun,” he gave an indignant look to his son, offended that he would call him something so formal within the comfort of their private quarters. Lan Yuan laughed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Forgive me, Papa. I got used to it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mn?” he prodded further, asking his 14 year-old son what his question was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve always played the same song before playing Wuji for as long as I can remember,” at that, Wangji smiled. One where his lips quirked up a little on the left. One filled with pain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The song is called Inquiry. It is a technique limited to the members of GusuLan sect. We use it when looking for spirits.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you looking for, Pa?” The question made him pause, looking at Lan Yuan and contemplating how to answer. Once A-Yuan’s fever broke a week into his seclusion when he first got him, he also lost all memories prior to Wangji rescuing him from the Burial Mounds. All connections that A-Yuan had to Wei Ying were erased. ItMust’ve been due to the shock and Wangji was not sure how Lan Yuan would react since Wei Ying has now been given the moniker of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Something,” pausing, he looked at his son’s gaze at him and corrected himself, “<em> Someone. </em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do I know him?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He raised Lan Yuan to uphold the teachings of GusuLan; to understand the fundamentals, to clarify by queries, to strive for strong persuasion, and to study diligently. He did everything in his power to assure that A-Yuan grew up to be fair and just but just as practical and intelligent as Wangji and Wei Ying were. Sizhui is going to be a dignified and refined gentleman in the future, he knows his son will understand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so he told A-Yuan. He told him how he met someone as noisy, as impulsive, and as brash as Jingyi that was also a close friend of his in the past. He told him how Wei Ying was mischievous to a fault and paid little regard to rules and formalities. How beneath a carefree attitude was a heart stronger than steel, how self-sacrificial and selfless a troublemaker like him can be. How his unconventional thought process might have cost his life but it changed Wangji’s. How Wei Ying managed to capture him wholly with his passion and strong sense of justice. He told A-Yuan that he still keeps the extremely realistic portrait that Wei Ying drew for him. Wei Ying’s affinity for the extremely spicy dishes made Lan Yuan scrunch his nose. Wherever Wei Ying might be right now, he’s proud of the man that A-Yuan is slowly becoming. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He sounds great, Pa.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His 7th try in Inquiry has waned his desire to hear Wei Ying for the last time. Over time, his longing ebbed away into a dull ache, Lan Yuan helped in making this world bearable for him. Waking up and knowing he and Wei Ying were indeed in the same timeline once but the chance to be together in this life has already passed makes both of his soulmarks sting a bit. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wangji doesn’t know why he’s still doing this. It’s been years already. He knows Wei Ying won’t come back. But the need to know if Wei Ying is in a better place now was still as strong as ever. He may not return but Wangji wants nothing more for Wei Ying to get his well deserved peace after everything he went through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lan Yuan had come to the age, with sufficient night-hunting experience and mastery of the qin, where he can finally play a few notes in the Inquiry. Lan Sizhui, adopted son of famous Hanguang-jun, also grew up to be a well-known player of the guqin all across China. It wakes up something soft and fond deep within him. But the 16-year old maintained that Wuji is still his favorite piece which was evident as his son had already taken over in their nightly tradition in playing the guqin after his Inquiry sessions. He really wished Wei Ying could witness his growth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time passed by without much notice and Lan Yuan had settled in the early cusps of adulthood at the age of 21, the very same age when he decided to adopt him as his own. Two whole decades of healing and re-filling the gap that Wei Ying left in his heart. He spent those two decades caring for his son and cultivating his golden core, enough to be noticed by a Heavenly Calamity and finally be given the chance to godhood a year after his <em> xiong zhang </em>ascended first. At the age of 42, Lan Wangji of the Twin Jades of Gusu has been chosen to finally ascend to the Heavenly Realm. He was given a week to complete the final challenge before his ascension. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His 11th and final try in Inquiry was performed together with his son, his <em> shufu </em>watching from the sides. Lan Yuan insisted it to be their last memory together, tears pooling in his eyes the same way as when he first stepped foot in Cloud Recesses. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Play Wuji for me one last time, A-Yuan,” on the day of his ascension, the heavenly lights shrouded Lan Wangji as a love letter unsent played by his son on the guqin he’s leaving behind resonated throughout the Gusu Mountain. His snow white robes crawling with blue clouds, the symbol of his sect, began melting away into pure light. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The years leading to his ascension was a lonely one, with no one to call as his cultivation partner. He may have had A-Yuan to ease the pain but nothing will ever compare for the devotion and love that he has for Wei Wuxian. He did not regret anything, from meeting him, supporting him from afar, and changing for the better because of him. It may have resulted in him having to walk the long lone path in cultivation filled with anguish and misery on most parts but it was a world where he met Wei Ying and for that he is already grateful. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Wei Ying really was in a better place now, then he’s going to wait. Wait for their strings to become tangled once again, for having another shot at tangency in their paths, for the time to face the fates once more and fight for what was theirs to begin with. He’s already waited his whole life until the day he met him on the roof that one fated night, he started waiting from afar once again when they become unconventional friends and life confidantes for a short while, he waited for the day that he can ascend and finally be given a second chance to meet him in another time and in another plane. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe next time, on the day their axes meet and slowly shift together again, it’s finally going to be them. But for now, Wangji will do what he always did when it comes to Wei Ying. He waits. </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>And here he is, thirteen lifetimes later. Thirteen hundred years and still waiting, hurting. Doomed to long for a love lost in the premises of unorthodox cultivation, a cruel case of wrong timing spun by the fates, and a confession untold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The phantom pain of loss and yearning started bleeding into Kiyoomi's waking days once his god tells him about the soulmarks on his back and his chest in his younger years; sleep has not been a peaceful affair ever since. But looking at this shockingly attractive man, this clueless man who harbors not only the founder of a whole new cultivation technique but also the star-crossed soulmate of his assigned god; this pain in the ass who not even ten minutes in after meeting is already proving to be the absolute nutcase, that Sakusa can already foresee he won’t be getting rid of anytime soon.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He watches, perplexed, as Miya puts his fist under his chin and closes his eyes, humming. Sakusa revels at the silent fact that he might just have his first ever non-turbulent sleep after the day is over.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>solera here, idk if i did well in the angst?? did i do it justice??? my forte's in fluff and crack soooo :DD</p>
<p>for anyone that noticed, i changed the months and some details of the story (i kind of based on both mdzs and cql but other events were different so i just created a whole other scene ehe). SAKUATSU IN NEXT UPDATE FINALLY!!!</p>
<p>A-jie -  shortened form for jiejie which means sister, or an older sister figure by blood.<br/>Shixiong- senior martial brother or senior male disciple in a sect<br/>Xiong-zhang - more respectful/proper term for older brother<br/>guqin - seven-stringed Chinese zither<br/>dizi - Chinese transverse (horizontal) flute<br/>Zongshu - sect leader<br/>Shidi - junior martial brother or junior disciple in a sect<br/>Shufu - uncle by blood</p>
<p> </p>
<p>scream at/with us on twitter!! <a href="https://twitter.com/cirquedeluna">cirquedeluna</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lanistowei">lanistowei</a><br/>for questions, clarifications, and violent reactions, hit us (mostly me) up on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/cirquedeluna">cc</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sakusa's pov mostly but atsumu's will also be shown</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yeah, that non-turbulent sleep he was talking about earlier? Good lord, forget that. Miya Atsumu is a walking migraine. One minute, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>looking adorable thinking and humming with eyes closed and the next thing Kiyoomi knew, he’s all over the place. Literally all over the place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The museum owner, Kushida-san, looks like he’s about to have a heart attack when the guqin and the dizi started playing. The old man was cowering next to his cousin which, if he wasn’t well-versed in maintaining a mask of indifference, would have been comical as he is the shortest next to Motoya. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, this imbecile. This stupidly attractive idiot who looks so good with his platinum blond hair had the audacity to step closer after the black veil was removed and </span>
  <em>
    <span>smooshed</span>
  </em>
  <span> his face to the unprotected glass casing like a kid in a candy store on Christmas day. Careless as ever. No, Kiyoomi did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to stop a groan when he saw Atsumu’s cheeks bunching up as an effect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wangji, of all the soulmates you can have, why?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kiyoomi, of all the soulmates you can have, why not?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Kiyoomi heard his cousin stifling a laugh when his face turned sour, suspecting Xichen relaying </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to his reincarnate, he paid no mind to the yelp that followed when he stomped on Motoya’s foot with the heel of his Oxfords. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Samu, I think we should pull him away from the instruments.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, let ‘im. If he gets his ass hexed, s’on ‘im fer bein’ an idiot. S’not like it’s the first time we hafta save his ass.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kiyoomi side-eyes Atsumu’s two companions. He expected them to look standoffish as per what their words conveyed but was mildly taken aback when the one with the eyes eerily similar to a fox, Suna, brandishes a white fan with red markings resembling a kitsune, glinting blades protruding from its edges. Fighting with a fan requires one to be light on their feet, quick in thinking, and agile in the arts of attacking and defending. Kiyoomi wasn't aware there was a tessenjutsu practitioner among the Hyogo exorcists. He starts chanting spells and soon, a thin mist made of golden threads enshrouds the older Miya. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other twin, Osamu, seemingly pulls out a katana out of thin air and proceeds to imbue its silver silk-covered hilt and silver blade with enchantments. Kiyoomi is impressed when he hears both of them muttering incantations and glowing fox-like familiars come prowling out of nowhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So. He gets babied then? Grew up being showered with love and his back watched. No wonder that during the exchange event back then—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as Atsumu steps away from the still playing instruments. And bites his thumb. Hard. Kiyoomi swears he can hear the blood dripping out from the wound and his eyes widen a fraction as Miya proceeds to draw runes in the air. He decides to deem the bubbling feeling that started from his groin and flowed upwards as morbid curiosity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That cultivation? He’s doing the same exact cultivation with Wei Wuxian? Who in the hell even taught him that when all the books containing demonic cultivation were banned?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A shout is lodged in his throat and he is about to step forward and scold the other when Osamu holds the katana’s blade in front of him, halting his steps and pinning him down with a stare. He glares back and pushes the blade down. Kiyoomi brushes his curls away from his face and holds out his hand, "Anubis.” A soft blue glow materializes in front of him, a long silver staff almost taller than him falling into his waiting hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>When choosing a name for his spiritual weapon back when he first got it in his younger years, it took him days before thinking of a name. He also took days in choosing from all the long-range weapons that his parents made him choose from. It was overwhelming for Kiyoomi’s tiny self back then. He wanted something that would give distance between him and his opponents, given his general dislike of people, but at the same time would deal quite the damage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so Wangji pointed him a bow, a whip, a sledgehammer, and a silver staff. The bow proved to be a great match but drawing the string and loading the arrow took time, the number of times he snagged things not his primary target with the whip was uncountable, the sledgehammer was too tacky and barbaric for his taste. Losing hope, he held the staff with both hands. Made of adamantine silver, enchanted to lengthen and shorten itself according to its user, and surprisingly light as if it was a limb extension instead of a weapon. About to resign to just training for close combat, young Kiyoomi and young Motoya sparred. Kiyoomi can’t forget the thrill that shot throughout him when he managed to maneuver his cousin to yield for the first time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anubis is the Egyptian god of the afterlife as well as the patron of lost souls and the helpless. Kiyoomi chose the name with the hope that for every exorcism he performs, he is helping in guiding souls for another shot in the afterlife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He draws a wide arc through the air with the staff before addressing the other two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can probably take an idiot like him down in a fight but I’d rather not dirty my hands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiyoomi, we talked about this. You can’t just hit people with your spiritual weapon, that’s for spirits!” He huffs petulantly when Komori hits his back, chastising him and proceeding to bow in apology to Osamu and Suna. He raises an eyebrow in question when the shorter of the two starts cackling to which Osamu answers that it’s not the first time someone wants to hit his twin for being himself and assured that his twin knows what he’s doing even though it doesn’t seem like it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch,” Wangji's usually stoic face gave nothing away as he gestures for him to look forward. And as a warm reddish glow emanates off of Atsumu, thick smoke rises from the ground and materializes into a fox familiar that stands proud and tall on its haunches: as black as the night and as red as blood. Kiyoomi is mesmerized as the blonde kneels and talks to what seems to be the leader of the familiars. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He looks ... confidently in his element, lovely. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There it is. The infamous kitsune battle array of Hyogo’s top three exorcists. I heard shit always goes down whenever they use it.” Sighing, Kiyoomi clicks his tongue at his cousin. This is not the time for them to show off flashy moves and for Komori to be impressed, there is an exorcism request—</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait, battle array?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pretty instruments, m’gonna give ‘ya that. Shame, we hafta crush ‘em.” Kiyoomi can’t count the times his blood pressure came close to bursting within this hour because of this man. No, he doesn’t feel anything when the blonde pulls twin daggers from the holsters on his— </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow, are his thighs really that thick?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clearing his throat, he walked nearer towards Atsumu as the grip on his silver steel staff grew tighter. His hands grow clammy, the proximity between him and the gorgeous man who has been throwing him off-kilter the whole duration of their first meeting in years is slowly decreasing. It hasn’t even been an hour and yet Miya Atsumu manages to make his chest run rampant like it usually did back then. Why does he have to be so fucking attractive and have the most irritating face at the same time? </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>You know when you find someone really pretty and you can’t help but stare and want to at least have one interaction with them but then they go and open their mouth and say the stupidest shit ever and you just sit there, horrified and pissed off, because you still want to kiss them silly?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miya, has the outskirts dried whatever shred of your brain left into dust? Those are priceless artifacts to the cultivating world, you ignorant worm. ” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wangji, your hormones are messing with my brain, you have to stop. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Real charmer yer cousin ‘ere, Toya-kun. I’m really flattered ‘ya still remember me. Too attractive fer ‘ya and can't get me outta yer head?” Hoping that the scowl is enough to showcase his disgust, Kiyoomi points the end of his staff at Atsumu’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When some Barry Benson wannabe runs headfirst to a trap, gets caught in a night-hunting net and trips everywhere like a headless chicken during the Tokyo-Hyogo exchange event just a few years ago, how could I forget such dumbassery?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atsumu sputters at the mention of his tirades during their Tokyo-Hyogo camp back in high school. The embarrassed flush high on his cheeks looks cute, damn it. When the blonde starts whining and stomping once his twin and Suna start hollering at him, Wangji has to remind Kiyoomi that it’s okay to feel exasperated in place of affection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Omi-kun—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peeved, Kiyoomi raises his index and middle finger and points at the face in front of him. The same soft blue glow from earlier shots out of his fingertips and snakes around Atsumu's lips, clamping them shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That'll wear off in 5 minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"As expected of Hanguang-jun's reincarnate. Damn, if we know how ta do those fancy silencin’ spell our hunts woulda been a lot bearable."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five minutes of indignant squawking from the blonde later, Kiyoomi smugly watched the peacock angrily blowing raspberries at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Omi-kun,” the nerve of this infuriatingly shameless and impertinent man to eye him like a sleazebag and smirk up at him, “what, pray tell, 're 'ya suggestin’ as an alternative then hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, Miya Atsumu is so annoying and for what?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That guqin is Hanguang-jun’s. He told me that since it was able to feel his presence once again after centuries, it might calm down now. We can leave it alone. Put your battle array away.” Atsumu is being uncharacteristically quiet, seemingly turning the idea over in his head. Being at the receiving end of Miya Atsumu’s stare is considered to be one of the most sought-after wonders in Japan’s cultivating world. Such pretense. Just like how roses are known for having thorns despite its famed beauty, everyone in the cultivating world also knows how much of a jerk he really is. But Kiyoomi knows that stare, he had received it for three years straight in every exchange event they had. Atsumu is taking it as a challenge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The dizi then, what’s gonna happen to it? Gon' leave it ‘ere? ‘Ya won’t bother with it since s’not yers?” He knows, he damn well knows that Atsumu is riling him up. What with the shit-eating grin surfacing on his lips and the feral glint in those brown eyes of his. And if Atsumu is a menace to society who gets off on gyrating on other people’s nerves then Kiyoomi is but a fool who allows him to do so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Oye. ‘Tsumu, stop bein’ a ‘lil shit. Sakusa-san’s with Hanguang-jun. He knows what he’s sayin’, ‘ya nuthead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shitty ‘Samu! T’was a harmless question, ‘ya stupid cornchip.” Atsumu really looks like a child throwing a fit whenever he gets agitated at his brother. He needs to look away; if he doesn’t, he might just reach out and pinch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wangji, seriously, you need to stop projecting on to me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blond snaps his fingers and the Hyogo familiars howl before dissipating into mist. The fan remains brandished and the daggers and katana unsheathed. Rule number one: act like you aren't safe in an unfamiliar place because in most cases, you aren't.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say, Atsumu-kun. The dizi is really pretty right?” Squinting suspiciously, Kiyoomi knows his cousin is up to no good as usual. The faux innocent smile is enough proof of it. They’re blood-related, he knows a scheme is up when he sees one. It piques the blond's interest which is equally bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmh! Prettiest!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Want to give it a try then? Looks like it could use a swing, you might be able to calm its resentful energy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Motoya, you absolute gremlin child. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though he can’t really get angry, well he’s kind of miffed but he’s willing to let it slide. After seeing almost literal sparkles flicker in golden brown eyes as Atsumu nods like a golden retriever rewarded, who is he to take that away? And so, heart in his throat, the rest of them watch as Miya Atsumu lifts the glass casing, strong, careful hands inching cautiously towards the piece of black bamboo. Kiyoomi can hear the low rumbles from the Hyogo familiars with how quiet their surroundings are. He’s sure Kushida-san is either shaking so hard right now or is already passed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caught up in his thoughts, he almost missed the sweet and soothing tune that rings across the entire section of the museum they're in. Soft and strong, mellow and harsh, sweet and bitter. Kiyoomi didn't know that he needed to see Miya Atsumu playing the dizi, eyes closed, his entire being glistening in orange when the rays of the setting sun from the highest window in the room shower upon him. He regretfully admits that something pulsed and stuttered inside him when Atsumu opened his eyes and stared right at him, mirth lingering in his eyes as he continued to finish an improv rendition on the flute. Those eyes of molten gold should be illegal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'Tsumu, 'Samu said you suck at woodwinds. I thought you're great at stringed instruments."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, that’s rich Sunarin, way ta call me talentless. Never played before, honest, but this s'nice. Dunno what happened, just came ta me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frozen still, it isn't every day when feelings flowed between a reincarnate and their god like a two-way bridge but at this moment, Atsumu and his platinum blond hair and his annoyingly attractive face and his stupidity and his apparent unawareness that he himself has accommodated Wei Wuxian in everything he do makes his chest sting a little bit. It's like he lost something that wasn't even his yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Y-young masters, what's gon' happen now? T-the instruments." The tap on his suit jacket is enough to shake him out of his reverie. There is a lot to unpack and Wangji and him have things to talk about but as a Sakusa, the client comes first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guqin stops playing almost instantly when the man with the forehead ribbon and white robes, Kiyoomi's god, glides towards the zither and strokes it for a few moments. The dizi is still in Atsumu's grasp and for a moment, everything is quiet and normal inside the museum. As if hell's racket hasn't been pestering the vicinity mere moments ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think it's enough that the instruments were calmed for the first time in centuries, if I remember correctly. It might stay that way for a long time now since Hanguang-jun and Miya offered some of their energy for momentary reprieve."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How 'bout 'ya two leave a talisman with somethin' of yers on it? Might calm 'em down much longer," Osamu's idea sounds rational but although Kiyoomi grew up with an open mind as opposed to the strict upbringing that the Sakusas gave him, there is no way he is going to mimic that tabooed technique that Atsumu just pulled. Gesturing for Atsumu to return the flute and close the glass casing, he faces Kushida-san. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling out three flame talismans, he gives it to the museum owner and instructs him to replace it every five years. Atsumu draws out a blank talisman and smears blood on it before giving it to Kushida-san with a grin. Kiyoomi cringes in disgust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deeming the job done, the five of them bow in farewell and thanks towards the museum owner. Kushida-san, albeit still a bit doubtful if their talismans will work as opposed to his cheap ones on cursed objects such as these, bows in return and gives them their fees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Hyogo trio is exiting the exhibit and is probably headed for the entrance, Komori is flitting around him with his jabs and questions, Xichen and Wangji are still lingering near the museum owner. Hoping to catch a wink of sleep this time around, Kiyoomi tunes out his cousin at the prospect of conking out on the rest of the journey home before facing his clan's elders once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then again, they really should've known better. It is literally the first time in a very long while since Lan Wangji came into contact with something very precious from his past life. Something engraved deeply into the first life of his assigned god. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doors of the museum slams shut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh. We didn't do that. We're still far from the door." Suna halts in his steps, and if Kiyoomi saw right, holds on to Osamu's shirt and shuffles closer to the other. Osamu whistles and the fox familiars from earlier, minus Atsumu's, return to circle the two of them. As expected of seasoned independent exorcists. Metallic rattles started soft but soon starts to grow louder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh hell, y'all shoulda just destroyed it! Look at what's gonna happen, the museum’s gonna get ruined!" And Kushida-san is back to panicking again. Honestly, Kiyoomi pities the man’s toupee. If he keeps on pulling on it like that, it might just come off altogether.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wangji, what’s happening?” he whispers when he feels the presence of the god behind him, lowering his voice in order to avoid spreading more panic. The god raises a finger, quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would everyone please shut up? Zewu-jun is trying to say something.” Give it to Motoya to simultaneously instill peace and chaos in everyone. His cousin’s round brows are furrowed in concentration, nodding every so often. It would’ve been a peaceful wait too if it isn’t for the sudden heavy footsteps that started to echo everywhere. It sounds as if something rough, asphalt or marble maybe, is being dragged on the wooden floors of the museum. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Toya, if you would like to please hurry up that would be nice.” Rolling his eyes when his cousin batted away at him, Kiyoomi shifts his vision in front of him where the blond is once again talking to the lead fox familiar. The twin daggers are still in his hand as he ruffles the fur of his familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Getting close to the vessels or the entities they are about to exorcise is not unheard of but it is also not that common due to risks. You wouldn’t want to be within an arm’s reach of a malevolent spirit out to kill you. But if anyone can outrun anything, he knows one. Though he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Close combat is going to get you killed, Miya." </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aw, Omi-kun, close combat also allows me ta limit their area of attack." The wind in Kiyoomi's lungs vanishes in a split second when Atsumu stands up and walks closer to him, way too close than what is deemed to be publicly acceptable, and bites his lips, "and y'know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>control</span>
  </em>
  <span> where I want them ta be." The fleeting touch on his hips made his cheeks the slightest bit hot. Whether it was out of irritation or anger, Kiyoomi doesn’t want to know. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> the shameless exorcist held his hips for a moment and he isn't hallucinating it. The warm gush of air near his face sends his focus careening for a moment, he has to blink a few times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wolfish grin on plump lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kiyoomi is not God's strongest soldier; he is stumped into silence when usually he would have a quickfire retort ready. Mortified, he watches as the small grin becomes a full-blown smirk on Atsumu's red, still bitten, lips. Can the ground please swallow him whole?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'Oye, pisshead! We're 'boutta die over 'ere, 'ya twat! Maybe flirt later?" Chuckling, Atsumu waves his brother off before turning his unwarranted attention back at him. Kiyoomi is not getting self-conscious under his gaze, no he is not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Later Omi-kun, try not ta stare at me too much, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eat shit, Miya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, mouthy. Welcome back, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ATSUMU! GET YOUR ASS HERE!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Composing himself is an easy feat to achieve but dealing with two sets of questioning eyes, he has to cover his face and ask Motoya to get on with what Xichen has relayed. Atsumu’s cocky grin and awful Kansai-ben and nonsensical flirtings flashes in his mind that deepens his frown in an effort to forget the happenings a few moments ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, good news is that there are no high-level demons awakened within the area. Bad news is that low-level ones were; a few possessed some of the statues down the hall and they’re heading this way. Some weapons on display also went airborne and— oh, Suna-kun, Osamu-kun, incoming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A slew of weapons, from different eras of Japan, come raining down on them a second after. Kiyoomi and Motoya’s quick reflexes ingrained from such an early age of hammering exorcist instincts in them by not only their clan but also their assigned gods enable them to raise a veil enchantment big enough for all six of them at a moment’s notice with synchronized hand seals. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meaningful looks are shared between the Tokyo and Hyogo exorcists, a look of understanding and urgency pass between the five of them. They move to their positions swiftly with him and his cousin still maintaining the veil. Motoya, Osamu and Suna are at the front with the two golden familiars, and Kushida-san with Atsumu's alpha familiar are at the center of the formation where they can all defend the middle. That leaves him and Atsumu at the back as support, side by side. Coincidence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the count of three, Kiyoomi and Motoya narrow the veil to only the middle and face the onslaught of possessed weapons and statues. It is a flurry of spells and scuffles of the fox familiars against flying objects everywhere. Kiyoomi is faring off nicely, hours of training doing wonders on his stamina while his inborn flexibility aids him in dodging. Atsumu is impressive though, fending off parries and thrusts with the blade of his daggers, looking as if he was dancing to a tune only he can hear amidst the deadly clanging of metals and heavy blockades of cement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hanzo!” Kiyoomi doesn't have enough time to hide the evident shock on his face once a soft red glow materializes in front of the other and the next thing he knew, Atsumu is shooting down weapons after statues with a bow and arrow. He's drawing the string taut and reloading shots in record time, it's kind of fascinating and annoying at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never told me your primary was a bow.” Kiyoomi blocks a large swing from a battle axe and shoots it away with an exploding spell. Are they allowed to have unlisted primaries? This is the first time he saw the other using a bow ever; Atsumu has been faithfully using spells and his daggers against him in their high school days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surprised, aren'tcha Omi-kun?” god, he wants to wipe off the smugness on that bastard's face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look at that stupid face.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "Still have tons of secrets, wanna discover 'em with me?" Kiyoomi grits his teeth, the effort to block a samurai statue from decapitating him and the effort to not trip Atsumu instead is making his head pound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the rear is chaotic as it is, the front is not any better. Atsumu's familiar is a beast, swiping left and right and mauling anything that comes near the veil. At least the client is safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suna and Osamu are a tandem, a duo, an extension of one another. A sight to behold. Where Suna is spinning and kicking away stray little statues, Osamu is at his back slashing a wide berth against paper doll machès. Where Osamu is busy handling a wooden statue of a general on horseback, Suna is blocking with his fan and diverting the rain of kunais to another direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shame, he can't see the Miya twins in action once again. Seeing them move fluidly back then, one mind in two bodies, was an experience guaranteed to entrance anyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Motoya, well...</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh God, is that a sledgehammer!? Your spiritual weapon is a sledgehammer!?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah! Isn’t Katya pretty amazing?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Komori-san, fer the love of God, swing it towards 'em statues, not us!" Saluting towards the black-haired twin, Motoya rushes forwards and swings his pink and yellow monstrosity hammer at the animated statue of a boar gone feral headed straight for the front of their array. Whoever decided to give him that when they were finally ordained as exorcists didn't foresee the chaos that was going to follow Motoya.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The longer the fight is getting dragged out, the farther he and Atsumu are being pushed and separated from the others. They are both professionals, years of competing against each other is showing in their prowess as ordained exorcists now. But prolonged exorcism is straining; as the spirit remains longer in their realm, unvanquished, the faster their spiritual energy gets depleted. He and Atsumu may have lasted in the day-long individual battles against each other back then but deflecting against spiritual energy is far easier than uncontrolled and unpredictable resentful energy. At least battling with Atsumu gave him the advantage of knowing where to strike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The horde seems never-ending, the ones near the two of them in particular aren't aiming to hurt but more like to provoke. It looks as if those were driving them nearer a certain area of the museum. It is then that it strikes Kiyoomi what could be a possible solution. Of course, he should've seen it right away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miya! I think we should take it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Finally goin’ out on a date with me, love?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you brute, the instruments! What if we take it home? You saw how they responded to us, well—you and Hanguang-jun, earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kushida-san aware of this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you go tell him we're taking ownership of the instruments then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They nod at one another before running in opposite directions. Kiyoomi heads towards the exhibit, Wangji flying overhead, while Atsumu goes back to their battle array in the main room. Atsumu is a reasonable man, Kiyoomi knows that. It's just that his assholishness sometimes overshadows that wit and logic of his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wangji, is it okay if I touch your guqin?" Sending a gust of air toward the black cloth that was once covering the glass casing again, the two instruments are revealed to be surrounded by a thick aura of energy. Not resentful, not spiritual. Resentful energy comes from spirits still stuck in the living realm and developed resentment because of unfinished business or regrets while spiritual energy comes from living humans, exorcists to be specific, and is cultivated to be one's golden core or the control center of a body's spiritual energy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barrier around the instruments is distorted and is making Kiyoomi's vision blurry, his knees wobbling at the sudden pressure in his ears and between his eyes. He grips the side of his head as the white noise grows louder and presses harder on the sides of head. Wangji floats towards it and touches the barrier, he holds his hands in front of him as if welcoming someone in his arms. Kiyoomi watches as the barrier vanishes and the glass casing is lifted. The guqin and the dizi levitate from their casing for what could be the first time in centuries and place themselves gently in the waiting hands of Kiyoomi's god.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The attack dies out soon after, the trio left in the main room cleaning out the last of them. Kiyoomi is holding the guqin as if it is something fragile but he, more than anyone, knows what the seven-stringed zither is capable of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wangji is yours to care for now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You named your guqin after you? How creative can you get?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mn. Wei Ying used to say he likes it." He really has Wangji to blame for all the conflicting flutters in his chest today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atsumu returns in the exhibit room, jogging, with the news of Kushida-san's approval while he is stuffing the guqin in a case behind his back, the dizi still floating in the air and being held by Wangji. He turns towards the awestruck blond gaping at the instrument suspended in the air and at the one tucked safely behind him. Kiyoomi gestures to the flute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Here. Its name is Chen Qing. It belonged to someone dear to Hanguang-jun, please don't break it within the day."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'Ye of 'lil faith, Omi-omi. I’m gonna take good care of it, 'ya have ma word,'' the grin on his lips seems genuine enough that Kiyoomi finally nods at him to take the dizi. "Hanguang-jun," Atsumu bows to the space next to Kiyoomi where Wangji is watching the man with a gaze unfamiliar to Kiyoomi. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, s'been nice seein' 'ya again, Goody two shoes-kun. See 'ya when we see 'ya, Omi-omi." The ever-present scowl on his face grows stronger as Atsumu poises a flying kiss to him, accompanied by a wink, hand twirling the dizi around with those dexterous fingers. He wants to ruin that perfectly coiffed hair so bad. Like stomp on his face kind of bad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he gets teased endlessly by Wangji and Komori, and in extension Xichen, once they boarded their clan's helicopter headed back to their main branch in Tokyo, no one has to know the hurricane that Atsumu left his thoughts in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stubborn strings of the qin felt different under his fingers as he held on to his god’s instrument. But it's okay, if Kiyoomi is known for anything, it’s that when he sets his mind on taming something, he sees to it to the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>———————————————</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atsumu is royally fucked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Told you he wouldn’t even last five minutes without spewing nonsense once he saw his darling Omi-kun again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Tsumu! Couldn’tcha hold it in fer like, a day, at least? ‘Ya really like Sakusa-san that much? Had faith in ‘ya and this is what I get.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subsequent thumps, louder after the other, resounds in the floorboard of their pickup truck as they pull out of the parking. His cheeks feel hot as he clamps both hands on either side of his face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sakusa Kiyoomi</span>
  </em>
  <span>. God, how could he ever forget the man who single-handedly gave him simultaneous headache and heart boners at every exchange event. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh no, look at your brother Samu. It's back, the Omi curse is back. You're on twin duty, deal with his lovesick ass. I am not suffering that Omi-kun shit again. I've had enough."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Complete utter betrayal! 'Ya wound me, darlin'."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're not swaying me with that sweet talk either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A dreamy smile creeps up Atsumu’s face as he remembers the bold advances he made earlier. Who knew he would finally have the balls to approach the stone-cold heir of the Sakusas after four years since high school? He used to just watch him in all his elegance and grace during the short meetings in the exchange events between their schools. He gathered enough courage to declare duel after duel and challenge after challenge against the other in their second year. High school Atsumu was brash and impulsive. It was the only way he could think of back then on how to interact with Sakusa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gives himself a pat on the back for managing a conversation now, in the form of banter no less.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Man, 'Tsumu's unreachable now. Is he still breathin' back there? Rinrin, ma's gon' kick ma ass."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's fine. He might sing you a love song about Omi-omi later though. He wrote a sonnet once; I think I still have it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"'Tsumu, 'ya absolute clown."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingers fly over the blowholes of the flute, familiarity seeping in his fingertips. Something shifts in the air and in the moment their eyes meet each other again. And Atsumu is quite liking where this is heading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey ‘Tsumu." He hums in reply, he can almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> Suna's cat-got-the-canary grin, "Happy, aren't you? Now that you have “couple things” with the light of your life?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oya, so the crush never really went away, did it? Aye, goin' strong with almost six, seven years, huh?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shuddap!" A shy smile, very soft giggle, and the steadily growing beat in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hue high on the apples of his cheeks matches the crimson tassel of the flute on the palm of his hand as his fingers run through the strands, the threads of fate are slowly unfurling yet again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>solera here again. i feel Incredibly Naked right now :))) first time writing for sakuatsu, if yall can feel that i projected my huge fucking crush on atsu thru omi yer right i hate it. the amount of agonizing i spent over the "action" scenes was :)))) oH the names of their spiritual weapons, if it wasn't explained here, we will delve into those as the story progresses.</p>
<p>scream at/with us on twitter!! <a href="https://twitter.com/cirquedeluna">cirquedeluna</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lanistowei">lanistowei</a><br/>for questions, clarifications, and violent reactions, hit us (mostly me) up on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/cirquedeluna">cc</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello!! sorry for the late update hshshs i have no other excuse except i literally lost my will to write bUT here we are now &lt;33</p><p>Atsumu's POV again (and,,,, well)</p><p>also, please read the end notes as well to clear some things that are in this chapter. hope u enjoy it!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Out of all things, Atsumu never believed in fate and destiny and anything of the like, which really didn’t make sense. He’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>exorcist</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for crying out loud. He’s already seen different kinds of cults, has helped a lot of lost spirits pass on to the next life, has witnessed one-too-many murder scenes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he has almost seen the light that one time that made him terrified of the Osamu</span>
  <span>–Rintarou–a-hundred-farm-chickens</span>
  <span> combination (don’t ask). But fate, he thinks, is just something that hopeless romantic teenagers made up to justify their lack of love life. Mythical creatures are realer for him than an unknown force that unfurls itself to dictate how one’s life goes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, this time, he’ll believe it exists for the sole reason of having something to blame with the fuckery that his life has become. There is just no way that he’s in this situation because he somehow fucked up something. Fate must be laughing its ass off with the joke that is Atsumu’s current predicament: looking absolutely disheveled, pressed frozen against none other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa Kiyoomi as the other used the </span>
  <em>
    <span>guqin</span>
  </em>
  <span> he now owns to get rid of the agitated spirits, like a scene from a cheesy shoujo manga.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How exactly did things turn out like this, you might ask? Well, let’s go back to a few hours ago, when Rintarou received a phone call for their next mission.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>ce when? Mhm. Tokyo? Okay, we’ll take it. Just send us the exact location, we’ll go tomorrow,” Rintarou finishes up the call before slumping back beside Osamu on the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s Saturday, just a few days after their job at the museum. Being that they are “rogue” exorcists, they more or less handle their time, which is why when they aren’t on a hunt or a mission, you wouldn’t find them anywhere except slouching in the Miya twin’s apartment (one would argue that it had become Rintarou’s as well, especially since he has claimed the space on the couch along with Osamu, relegating Atsumu to the loveseat). It’s a great perk, of course, but that also meant that they have to be on-call 24/7. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu resumes the movie playing on the television after the call. “Who’s that?” he asks, adjusting his position so Rintarou could lie comfortably against his chest while he plays with his hair. Atsumu gags at the display, but the other two makes a point of ignoring his dramatics as they always do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gin. Said he got a call from one of the locals all the way over at Tokyo, but he can’t go since he’s still not yet done with the Nohebi job,” Rintarou explains, eyes still trained on the movie even though it’s obvious he has lost focus on it from the first ten minutes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu winces. “Yikes. That’s been goin’ on fer weeks now, right? Dontcha think that might actually be his calamity fer ascendin’?” he muses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reply with a uniform shrug. “Maybe. And it’s called Heavenly Calamity, ya twat. Ya didn’t listen at all during our second year, did’ya?” Osamu spares him a mocking glance, to which he answers with a completely-not-childish middle finger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Contrary to what Osamu had just shamelessly declared, Atsumu </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> study really well during their second year. It just so happened that he forgot the word for it. A Heavenly Calamity differs from every person, but in general, it is a trial that usually comes in the form of a storm that ancient cultivators used to go through before ascending to the Heavens, testing whether or not the cultivator could handle godhood. However, since the modern exorcists are only reincarnates of ancient gods, therefore not possessing raw spiritual powers from pure cultivation, Heavenly Calamity comes literally in any form. It could be as quick and simple as giving a meat bun to a random stranger on the street; or, just like in Ginjima’s case, as drawn-out and exhilarating as killing a giant corrupted shirohebi that has been plaguing the area for years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Rintarou continues rolling his eyes at the twins’ banter, “Gin said that one of the locals called; it’s not really bad, he said, just… ‘strange’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu hums thoughtfully. “How so?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s not as bad as people missing or something. Gin said his client described it as ‘a heavy feeling’, like they’re always unmotivated with everything. It affected mostly students, so the residents had an inkling it must have something to do with the old school they’re about to demolish in a few weeks to turn into a shopping mall,” he explains. “The task was a simple investigation, but we still have to be prepared.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a beat of silence between the three of them, the noises from the television serving as a background noise against their rushing thoughts. Atsumu mindlessly twirls the black flute between his fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu still doesn’t get it, not really, how the instrument got attached to him. But for some reason, having Chenqing near his person all the time gives some sort of comfort, as if it has always belonged there. It’s only been days but he seriously can’t remember his life when he wasn’t fiddling the flute. Chenqing’s presence is both somehow grounding and terrifying; grounding since it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>to keep it as his own, terrifying because this made new questions pop up in Atsumu’s mind. Questions he doesn’t know the answers to, questions about the black hole that is himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Tokyo?” Atsumu asks the next day, watching as they pass by the sign that read ‘Tokyo’, signifying that they are, in fact, entering the city.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu gawks at him from the passenger seat. “Did’ya really just realize it now? It’s been hours, what the hell.” Rintarou snickers behind the wheel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t Omi-kun and Toya-kun based in Tokyo? Why don’t they take the case?” Atsumu pushes, ignoring the heat rising quickly on his face he’s sure is not only from the embarrassment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think the other folks have already called them, but some still called for help from other exorcists,” Rintarou says as he turns the steering wheel to the left. The sign overhead says ‘Nerida Ward’. The sly smirk thrown at him from the rear-view mirror tells Atsumu that Rintarou and Osamu would not let him get away with their teasing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bastards.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And wouldn’t you like that? To see your one true love again?” he says before letting out a loud laugh, Osamu joining him in the ‘Clowning Atsumu Agenda’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu stops, but only to take a breath. There’s no way he’s letting Atsumu off the hook, especially since it’s so amusing to watch him get flustered when they talk about Sakusa. “If ya see ‘im again, which I’m sure ya would find a way to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> stop with the flirting. It physically hurts to watch ya make a fool of yerself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu groans, “fuck off,” to which the two only replied with thunderous laughter. “I hate the both of ya,” he grits out, watching as Osamu slaps Rintarou’s thigh and lets his hand stay there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s glad that his brother is happily and sappily in love, but it’s times like these, when they’re ganging up on him, that makes him regret it just a tiny bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He averts his gaze outside, tuning out the annoying giggles that are still spilling from his companions. Tall buildings shadow their path, overwhelming and intimidating, but they could not be compared to the mountains in Hyogo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu closes his eyes as he basks in the sunlight filtering through the building and into the closed windows of their dad’s car. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wow. We’re practically insignificant, and yet, humans are still far more terrifying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His eyes blink open to a lady walking her dog by the sidewalk as they rounded a corner. He faintly registers that Osamu and Rintarou have already receded their giggles, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and are now whispering amongst themselves. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And what makes </span>
  </em>
  <span>me</span>
  <em>
    <span> even more terrifying than most is the fact that even I have no idea who I really am. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Shaking his head to clear the existential crisis clouding his mind, he steps out of the car when Rintarou parks it in an open space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They left their apartment before the sun has woken up most of Japan. By Atsumu’s estimation (something he’s incredibly and ridiculously good at), it should be just a little past 9 AM now, but the combination of the sheer size of the dilapidating set of  buildings before them and the thick energy surrounding it is enough to make someone think that the place is in a perpetual state of moonless night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Metropolitan Nekoma High,” Osamu reads off the pillar stone that serves as the entrance of the large structure. The rusty metal that barely serves as a gate shrieks as Rintarou pushes it open, loud against the ominous howling winds. The three of them enter easily, a good sign that whatever strange energy that engulfs the whole place is not hostile. At least, not yet. The darkness compels them to procure a flashlight of their own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From what Atsumu can tell, the place is huge, the light bouncing off of a large building several meters away upfront. This school must have stood with pride back in its days, housing only the elites. It was not visible outside, but what he assumes to be a large field that they are currently in is thick with tall grass and shrubs and occasionally small trees, it almost looked like they are in the middle of a forest rather than an old school. Thankfully, they were smart enough to wear jeans and old sneakers as dirt and grass crunch beneath their feet. On their right is a row of school buildings. A few walls are vandalized but otherwise, it’s almost as if no human has ever been in this place for centuries; the thick vines crawling up to almost the top of the building 4 stories high look like it's a creature on its way to devour the whole building.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In short, the place is something right out of a horror movie. Atsumu’s guts wrench in fear and excitement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All this energy, but I don’t feel like it’s resentment from a single powerful spirit,” Osamu wonders aloud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu hums. “I think it’s ‘cause they’ve been sittin’ ‘ere, accumulatin’ for years. We just have to find where they’re concentrated,” he muses. Without looking, he knows the two are nodding with the suggestion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continue with fighting through the grass that seem keen on pushing them back out. For some reason, they’re moving towards a specific direction, as if they are being lured towards it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are a good many meters away from the entrance now, having passed another school building, and it should have been then that they realized that something is wrong. The tiny but incessant chirping of the bugs is suddenly gone; even the sounds of their footsteps disappeared, no matter how much Atsumu stomps on the ground. The wind feels stronger on his exposed skin, and yet, there is no whooshing accompanying it. It’s quiet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too quiet,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can hear his blood pumping quickly through his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What...?” Atsumu hears Rintarou mutter under his breath as another building looms before them. It’s different from the rest, but Atsumu has no time to consider this when he hears his brother curse under his breath with the same distressed tone Rintarou sported.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns around, pointing his flashlight directly on their faces. They’re a few steps behind him. The two squint at the brightness but didn’t berate him for it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There really is something wrong going around here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it? What’s happenin’?” He asks, anxiety spiking up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu clicks his tongue, grimacing. “Jiang Cheng’s suddenly gone,” he says, voice low but is amplified with the sudden silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yours too?” Rintarou asks Osamu, instinctively moving in front of Osamu, protecting him from a danger that’s still unknown to them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wish I have someone like that as well, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Atsumu thinks, then mentally scolds himself because </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, Atsumu, now is REALLY not the time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feigning nonchalance, he shrugs then continues walking towards the dark building that he only now notices seems darker than the rest. He can’t actually make out the real color of the walls because of the thick cluster of energy swirling around it, like thick smoke from a big fire. The energy coils and curls and winds itself, moving animatedly as if it has a life of its own. Atsumu feels shivers crawl up his skin that has nothing to do with the muted strong winds. “We’ll be fine. We just hafta exorcise the source of this shit and we’ll be done ‘ere,” he waves at them, stepping into the building. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he steps inside, he is surprised to see that it’s actually bright. There are still a few stray trees and tall plants here and there, and the tall grass seems to be the default everywhere and it towers over him here, but the sunlight is freely shining down inside it. It feels like he’s in a completely different place than where he was just a few seconds before. He looks up, surprised to see that there actually is a ceiling instead of it being open. But then again, this shouldn’t come as a surprise; the whole school is literally enchanted with magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns off his now useless flashlight as a smug smile tugs up at his lips. “See, toldja it would be ea</span>
  <span>—” he starts to say, cutting himself off when he realizes that the other two he was with when he entered is, very visibly, not behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stupid, stupid Atsumu. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> it wouldn’t be that easy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Samu!” he calls out, hoping to all gods and immortals that the Osamu and Rintarou just didn’t enter yet, hoping that he is not in the worst case scenario he’s thinking of. He finds himself clenching Chenqing tucked on his waist. As expected, the familiarity of the cold wood eased some of the tension in his body, as if comforting him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>it will be fine, you’ll be fine. I’m here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Atsumu! We’re fine!” he hears Rintarou call back from very far, like he’s about fifty meters away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yer an idiot,” Osamu says right after, now sounding like he’s right beside Atsumu. They both laugh loudly, but it isn’t enough to ease the headache that is increasingly making itself apparent as his pulse pounds on Atsumu’s forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that he actually thinks about it, it’s not just the transition from darkness to natural light that causes it. He notices how the total silence from earlier changed as well, but this change is equally as awful: he now hears a vague static, like an old radio was put inside his ears and then stuffed it with cotton. It’s easy to ignore at first, but it is starting to become very uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are the two of ya together?” he asks again. He refuses to deal with his brother’s jabs right now. Osamu answers “yes!” at the same time with Rintarou’s “he’s not my boyfriend!”. There is a pregnant pause before three hysterical giggles bounces off at varying volumes against the walls of the building they’re in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu and Rintarou are insufferable motherfuckers, but they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>motherfuckers and Atsumu is glad he has them in situations like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re gonna jump, just so we could see ya,” Osamu suggests. It seems like they are all coming up to one theory, and now, they’re trying to test if it’s actually true (Atsumu hopes not, but there really is no other plausible explanation to their current situation). “On three.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One, two, three!” At the count, Atsumu obliges with the jump. He sees two heads above the thick vegetation on the far side of the building on his right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Walk straight for ten steps,” Atsumu says, doing the same thing as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Again. One, two, three!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, Osamu and Rintarou are right in front of him, roughly five meters away. He runs towards them, and is not surprised to see that the other two are in fact not in front of him. He sighs. Confirmed, it’s a</span>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What didja think activated the maze array?” his brother asks, once again sounding far, even farther than Rintarou’s had been before. Atsumu almost can not discern his question if not for the reason that he has the exact same question as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No idea. Hey, can ya call the foxes? Or even yer weapons?” Atsumu presses his fingers against his temples hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause. “No. I can’t concentrate,” Rintarou answers for the both of them. As expected, the three of them are actually in the worse-than-worst case scenario.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A maze array is a magical formation placed in order to disorient whoever enters it. The victims would lose their sense of direction, usually to fend off nosy humans. However, in this setting, not only is the maze array targeting ordinary humans, it’s also calibrated to disorient exorcists as well, making them lose their focus to manifest their spiritual energy because of the constant static. The human-centered formation is already a high-level formation that requires spiritual energy more intense than the three of them combined, much more the one that targets those that practice exorcism and cultivation. This may have been a work of an ancient spirit, or a powerful immortal, or a synergy of deeply-connected spirits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What exactly is this maze array trying to protect here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This mission is really problematic, much more complicated than the work at the museum. Atsumu’s lips tug upwards. He has always loved a little bit of a challenge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tries to hide a wince as a crunch sounds out beneath his shoes, disgusted but not shocked to find human bones. They need to get out of here if he doesn’t want to end up like this, and maybe more, unfortunate person. He chants a quick prayer to the spirit before he leans on a small tree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, screaming until they find each other wouldn’t work. He closes his eyes, forcing his brain cells to actually do their job. Suddenly, an idea strikes Atsumu as he becomes conscious of the thing he has clenched on his right hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m goin’ to play the flute. Just follow the sound until ya find me, ‘kay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya don’t even know how to play. Is that gonna work?” Osamu asks, sounding like he’s about ten meters away. Atsumu cranes his neck, trying to see if the two are actually near. When he doesn’t see a pair of dark hair, he pushes himself off the tree he’s leaning on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dunno,” he answers honestly. He just wants this to end, his head is </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span> starting to hurt with all the white noise. Covering his ears doesn’t work, and getting frustrated in the middle of an unknown presence that made a powerful array isn’t exactly a great idea. “I’ll try. Callin’ out doesn’t work. Besides, the sound wouldn’t technically come from me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually, y’know what, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Don’t do it, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says hurriedly. Atsumu only waves even though they can’t really see him. “Ya worry too much. We’re already trapped. What else could still go wrong from ‘ere?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Several minutes since he said such bold statement does he realize that he needs to stop jinxing himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu inhales deeply, placing the blow hole against his lips. He was initially thinking of playing one long note because he really has no prior experience with musical instruments, much more an ancient Chinese flute, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>came to him, and before he knew it, his fingers are moving on instinct.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s beyond strange how he suddenly could play an instrument he acquired not even a week ago. What’s even crazier is that the song he’s playing is the one he heard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>dizi</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>guqin</span>
  </em>
  <span> play back at the museum, which he only heard once. But the most insane thing is that Atsumu felt so in his element, like this was exactly what he was meant to do, like he has lived his entire life for this moment. It’s equally exhilarating and liberating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like the black hole in his identity doesn’t seem as scary anymore, and he finds himself yearning to learn more. And so, he blows, and plays, and lets his instincts take full control of him. He wants to scream so bad, but he foregoes his giddiness and instead tries to focus on the task at hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Focusing, as it turns out, is a concept</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>one that will not be achieved by a certain Miya Atsumu in the present time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s so absorbed in his newfound ability that he doesn’t notice the white noise is changed with a cacophony of voices. It started with whispers, but soon after, losing his hold on Chenqing, Atsumu grips his head with the screams and wails of a million voices going through his head. The white noise felt itchy, and the voices felt like they’re cutting his brain up in pieces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tsumu!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>—here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kuroo, no.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lev, leave him be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Tsumu! Where the fuck—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yiling—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s back!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"—it possible?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do it—"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happens now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it really him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Go away!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Leave—"</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>His head feels like it's being held on the seams, bursting at his scalp with how close it is to bursting. His grip impossibly tightens, he's sure he has plucked off a huge chunk out of his hair. It hurts,</span> <span>both his head and his throat, probably from screaming, but he's not sure since he can't even hear himself amidst the chaos. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stop!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can't—"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Save us!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"—the wait!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Atsumu!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"—Xian!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Miya."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu is so lost in his struggle that he jerks out of surprise when his back meets a warm chest. His hands are still trembling when he reaches out from behind him, a large hand encircling his wrist to support him. The voices still hasn’t stopped, but among them, the one he recognizes is the one that belongs to a certain stoic exorcist from Tokyo with his stupidly pretty face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his eyes still screwed shut, he lets Kiyoomi maneuver him against his chest, unconsciously slotting his face against the other’s neck. An arm braces against his back, and he finds himself not wanting to fight off the skinship. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck do you think you’re doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> his brain screams at him, but at this point, he’s too far gone and instead enjoys the scent of sandalwood and fabric conditioner. He focuses on the voice in his brain that says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is nice. I like this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His sense of hearing is so awfully overwhelmed but there is no mistaking the sound of Lan Wangji’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>guqin</span>
  </em>
  <span> being played. “What..?” he begins to ask, turning his head to his back to see what Kiyoomi is doing. A note, then two, and all the voices are suddenly gone. Even the static is more subdued now than it was before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment, or maybe hours, Atsumu is not sure anymore, when he hears the same deep baritone that is his comfort, “Miya, it’s done. Let go of me now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fog in Atsumu’s brain has mostly cleared up now, registering that he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>indeed</span>
  </em>
  <span> still cling on Kiyoomi’s shirt, now crumpled because of him. As if a bucket of ice is shoved down his back, he jerks backwards violently, “What d’ya mean…’m not—It’s not like I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanna</span>
  </em>
  <span> cling—I hate ya so much, Omi-kun,” like the idiot that he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mn,” Kiyoomi only hums at his fumbling, handing him his flute back. “Don’t stray too far from me, unless you want to get lost again,” he says simply before walking forwards, not looking if Atsumu is following because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he is. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What an arrogant prick.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wiping the wetness on his face (why the hell was he crying earlier?), he follows. It takes a few seconds of deep breaths,calming his heart that is still thundering because of his earlier issues, before he puts on the mask of smugness that  he always has on. “If I didn’t know any better, Omi-kun, I’d think yer worried fer me over there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without sparing him a glance, Kiyoomi replies, “Well, do you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Think? At all?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu’s face crumples in annoyance, and is deepened further when he hears a fit of laughter among the grass. “I’m glad yer still breathing, but I told’ya to stop with the flirting, it only makes ya stupid,” his brother says in between laughs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, ‘Samu!” he yells back, pointedly ignoring the glance Kiyoomi throws at him. He sees the blush high on the other’s cheeks and ears, but he is too embarrassed to check. Avoiding Kiyoomi’s gaze, he looks up at the ceiling. It’s then that he sees it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Samu, Sunarin. It’s a school gym,” he says, slowing to a stop in his walk. Kiyoomi stops as well, looking at him questioningly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we sorta figured out,” Rintarou answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu shakes his head, now having the confidence to look at Kiyoomi as if he’s explaining math to a third-grader. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s a modern school gym.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi’s eyes widen slightly in realization. Atsumu watches as he glances up, recognizing the arched metal beams supporting the tin roof. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a circular array,” he concludes, making Atsumu’s grin grow wider.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arrays are pretty uncommon, much more the modern ones like maze arrays. This being a modern school gym means that the school has not accumulated that much energy through many years, and the easiest array to create are the circular ones. Circular arrays are similar to a typhoon: the eye is where there is no turbulence because that is where all the magic is from. Which means they only have to go to the center of the building in order to escape the array and deal with what is, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>, managing it. They only have to walk in a circular direction around it until they arrive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see ya there,” Osamu says, clearly understanding Atsumu’s mental plan. Atsumu may not have a god on his own, but having Osamu is his biggest blessing. Not that he would say that aloud to him, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Osamu probably already knows it, and is equally grateful he has Atsumu.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi and Atsumu start walking. It’s silent for a few minutes before Atsumu reverts back to being Atsumu who can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk for more than five minutes, tops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’d ya get in here, Omi-kun?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At first he thought Kiyoomi wouldn’t reply. He’s being proven wrong more and more when it comes to the upright man with each time he spends with his presence. “We were called.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Toya-kun?” Atsumu asks again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Outside. He’s investigating around the building.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did’ya manage to control the </span>
  <em>
    <span>guqin</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Weren’t ya affected by the noise of the array?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I drew a talisman before entering. I could sense something is going on in here. I had to be sure, and I was right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, as expected of Sakusa Kiyoomi, the famous reincarnate of Lan Wangji,” Atsumu admires, stepping around a small tree. “Why didn’t we go straight to the center if yer talisman works against the array? That would’ve made things easier, y’know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You crumpled it when you clinged on me,” Kiyoomi says with a low voice, possibly sparing Atsumu from the embarrassment they’re both sure to come if the other two hears it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu blushes, looking away once again. “Right. Uh, thanks, by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi only hums in return, letting Atsumu simmer in awkwardness. It’s quiet again for  a while, save for the occasional voices of Rintarou and Osamu talking about nothing in particular that Atsumu tunes them out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did’ya find me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi is silent for more than a few moments that Atsumu thinks he didn’t hear him. Before he got to ask again, Kiyoomi answers, “I don’t know. I just did.” His voice is soft, close to a whisper, but Atsumu hears it clearly. He hears the hesitation; at admitting he doesn’t know the answer, maybe, or at knowing exactly what the answer is but doesn’t want Atsumu to know about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu’s heart flutters pathetically against his chest at the unspoken implication of his words, but shoves it down, deep down, because he simply can not deal with all of that for now, or ever, in that case.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fate is weird, fate isn’t real, we aren’t fated, shut up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They arrive at the center first, and it isn’t even a question of whether or not it’s the center because of the set-up of about ten nekomata statues in a circle, a book high on a pedestal at the dead center.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that answers almost all of the questions.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu and Rintarou both stumble out of the grass on their left, arriving at the clearing a few seconds after Atsumu and Kiyoomi did. They gape at the shrine, looking mystical in the soft light not hindered by leaves or trees or grass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu moves first, he always does, but this time, he moves carefully, afraid of offending the spirits of nekomata. He brushes his hand against the bottom of one of the statues to read what was on the plate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Inuoka.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moves to the next, and the next, muttering the names of the nekomata as he moves on to another. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They all have different vivid features, it’s adorable</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Atsumu muses to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Teshiro. Shibayama. Haiba. Fukunaga. Yamamoto. Kozume. Kuroo. Kai. Yaku.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The three watch him, observing his inquiries and looking out for any change or signs of apprehension. There is none, and feeling brave, Osamu peels himself off Rintarou’s side, slowly reaching out to the book at the top of the pedestal. They all hold their breath, but when there is still nothing new happening, Osamu opens the book. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a book on curses and spells,” he says, looking at Atsumu first, lingering for a while before he looks at Kiyoomi and Rintarou.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would they go through all the trouble of settin’ up ten powerful nekomata? There are some normal libraries that’ve books just like that,” Atsumu asks, head tilting in confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu looks back at the cover of the book, turns a few pages, and Atsumu feels like he’s only prolonging the answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s about… demonic cultivation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that, all three of them look at Atsumu. Atsumu’s heartbeat spikes up under the scrutiny, feeling like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, even though he has no idea what Osamu is talking about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhh,” he starts awkwardly, uncomfortable at the attention. This is not the kind of attention he likes. “Okay? Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Osamu’s jaws clench before looking away, locking his gaze on Rintarou who has his lips in between his teeth, communicating through their eyes. Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi who has his lips pressed tight, maybe in disappointment, or anger, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a look that Atsumu is extremely unhappy about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Whatever,” he dismisses their weird looks. “Let’s take the book and rearrange the statues to remove the array so we could all get the fuck outta ‘ere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rotates one of the statues, the one named ‘Haiba’, before addressing Kiyoomi as well. “It’ll be fine, right? To take it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi has now schooled his expression back to neutrality. “I will consult Motoya later about it. But the array, I agree that we have to remove.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu nods in acknowledgment before he goes back to his work. It’s not the book causing the dark energy in the area. Rather, it’s from the souls of those that entered the array mindlessly and got lost, dying inside it without ever coming out. The school shouldn’t be that old, evidenced by the modern school gym, and so it shouldn’t have accumulated enough resentment. It would be easier to exorcise without the array.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other three help him with rotating the statues, nullifying the array. As Atsumu rotates the last one, the one named ‘Kuroo’, the light inside the gym fades along with the tall grass and trees and dirt and everything unnatural in it. They all sigh in relief that they have actually solved what they came there for. It’s dark, their main source of light is the moonlight passing through the gym’s windows and open doors. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, moonlight?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s nighttime already?” Atsumu wonders aloud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Motoya, now joining the others as he enters through the doors, answers for him. “Maze arrays have a way of disrupting your sense of time. Kiyoomi entered at noon, and I assume the three of you have been in there for longer,” he explains with a kind smile, handing each of them a bottle of water and a konbini snack. “Nice to see you all again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu hasn’t even realized he is both thirsty and hungry before Motoya mentioned it, but he reaches out for the food and the drink, muttering a “thanks” in gratitude. Munching on the food, he watches as Osamu and Rintarou talk to themselves outside of the gym, gesturing multiple times at the book Osamu is still holding. Motoya walks to the cluster of statues sitting at the center of the gym, Kiyoomi following him with his eyes, obviously avoiding Atsumu. Unfortunately, Atsumu is Atsumu, and about one-fourth of his life is dedicated to infuriating other people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Omi-kun, Did’ya study how to spiritually use the </span>
  <em>
    <span>guqin</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Ya did pretty good back then,” says Atsumu, putting his weight on one foot, hand snug against his hips where Chenqing is tucked securely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is Wangji’s. It sort of comes with the whole reincarnate deal,” Kiyoomi answers, snapping his face mask back on his face once he’s done with his food. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, of course. How amazing of ya both.” If Atsumu isn’t looking at Kiyoomi, he would have missed the blush on his ears even though he looks away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I heard you play the </span>
  <em>
    <span>dizi</span>
  </em>
  <span> as well,” he says, asking even without the question itself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu rubs Chenqing, looking at it fondly at first, his expression morphing into that of confusion as he lets Kiyoomi’s words sink in. “Yeah, I actually did. I never learned or studied how to do it, though, it’s so weird.” He stays silent, reaching out for the answer at the tip of his tongue. When his head starts hurting again from too much thinking, he smiles brightly back up at Kiyoomi who is already looking at him. “Guess I’m just that talented, huh Omi-kun? Were ya swept off yer feet with how good I played?” He says, and he has the audacity to wink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Kiyoomi frowns, but Atsumu recognizes it’s not one out of scorn that he does whenever Atsumu makes a subtle advance on him. “You…” he cuts himself off, staring at Atsumu’s eyes like he’s looking for an answer, before walking away, going to join his cousin at the center instead. “Nevermind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once again, Atsumu is left dumbfounded, but he runs after him as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say, Omi-kun</span>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are we allowed to bring them out?” Kiyoomi asks Motoya in a loud voice, effectively cutting off whatever bullshit Atsumu is about to spew out. His nose scrunches up, but he straightens up when Motoya looks at the two of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still alternating his gaze between Atsumu and Kiyoomi, Motoya tilts his head to the side, listening to Zewu-Jun. He nods once, then slowly turns his head towards Atsumu. He opens his mouth, closing it again, eyes furrowing as he still stares at Atsumu. He’s looking at Atsumu, but it feels like he’s also </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it takes all of Atsumu not to squirm when Motoya smiles oddly. He nods again, then says, “It should be fine. The locals are planning to demolish this whole place. We need to set up a new shrine for the people to give them offerings.” He strokes the head of the statue nearer to him. “You take the book too, Atsumu-san.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu is puzzled with how today is turning out. “We’re already plannin’ to keep it anyway. Thanks,” he says hesitantly. Motoya is weird.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great! Please help us in bringing these babies out.” Motoya grunts as he secures one statue on each of his shoulders. Kiyoomi follows, and at the same time, Rintarou and Osamu enter the gym. All five of them brought out two statues each, placing them outside the entrance of the school.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the tall grass and trees gone, Atsumu appreciates the vastness of the school under the soft glow of the full moon. Indeed, the buildings are not as dilapidated as they should be if they were centuries old. Atsumu feels nostalgia as he’s reminded of Inarizaki High, of late mornings and groups of kids running around without much care for the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all come back to the gym after they left the statues outside the entrance, working together in exorcising the place. They even offer prayers for the lost souls as they dissipate in thin wisps of black clouds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They set up a small but noticeable shrine near one of the residential houses, placing the statues in a line. Contented with a job well done, the men from Hyogo prepare to board their car as the ones from Tokyo board theirs as well. They bow to one another in respect.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for the work, Suna-san, Miya-san.” Kiyoomi bows to Rintarou and Osamu, then reluctantly bows to Atsumu as well when Motoya nudges his side with his elbow. “Miya,” he grits out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, why does he get the honorifics while I don’t?!” Atsumu whines loudly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi ignores him by getting inside his car, rolling the windows all the way up to block out more of Atsumu’s sputtering noises. It’s not enough because he still hears Atsumu’s indignant yell, “Whatever, I’ll see ya ‘round, Toya-kun. Especially ya, Omi-kun!” before he bounds to their car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as Atsumu seats himself at the back, fatigue takes over his body. He is only kept awake by a kick on his shin, courtesy of his ever-loving brother. “Don’t sleep yet, dickhead. We hafta eat first. I’m starvin’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu groans but forces his eyes to open. He looks outside to Kiyoomi and Motoya’s car backing out the lot into the driveway, their own vehicle following after them. At the first intersection, the two cars split.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would take a lot of time before they see each other again, but for now, their interactions are enough to make both Kiyoomi and Atsumu stay up late at night thinking of the other. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re really gonna do this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’ll help them. Trust me. They need this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If everything goes belly-up, we’ll deal with it together, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A kiss. A promise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I have you, you have me. Let’s do this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That same night, fate’s wheels started to turn.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*inhales* we have A LOT to unpack here. Contains some spoilers for mdzs and tgcf.<br/>We've mentioned before that there would be a lot of made-up terms concerning exorcisms here. Some of these are explained in the fic already but yknow better to be sure.</p><p>1. Heavenly Calamity<br/>&gt; according to tgcf wiki: to test those who have the potential to ascend to godhood. comes in the form of a powerful storm. it can be rejected if the person refuses to ascend to godhood.<br/>&gt; in this fic: also a test before ascending, but all are required to go through a Heavenly Calamity since all exorcists are reincarnates of immortals/gods (ancient cultivators that have ascended). they only go through a calamity once, unlike in the tgcf universe, and it varies in difficulty. calamities are sort of what the exorcists are meant to accomplish in their mortal life<br/>2. Maze Array<br/>&gt; according to mdzs wiki: used to disorient people who approach i. nie huaisang used this in that chapter about the nie ancestral halls. i think in the novel it didnt affect strong cultivators but i'm not exactly sure.<br/>&gt; in this fic: still used to disorient people, but it's rarely used and only made by powerful forces. there are those that are made for humans and some, the stronger type, are used specifically for exorcists. it wasn't mentioned, but arrays are different depending on how powerful were those that set it up. in here, since the nekoma members are actually really powerful, and there are ten of them, it's strong enough that they also made grass and shit grow into jungle-like appearance. this was actually inspired by the movie "in the tall grass" if anyone noticed the reference lol. those that are used specifically for exorcists also cut off their connection with their gods/immortals, that's why osamu and suna were confused before entering the gym but it didn't affect atsumu because he "doesn't" have a god.<br/>3. Circular Array<br/>&gt; canon (?): actually this is all bs lmao as far as i know all arrays are circular (or at least from what i have seen on the mdzs donghua<br/>&gt; in this fic: as was explained, circular arrays are the easier to make since even though nekoma is powerful, they're still pretty young. some arrays, like the battle array of the Hyogo boys that summons their familiars, looks like a circular array as well, except they summon the foxes using it and fades as soon as the foxes come forth.<br/>4. Nekomata<br/>&gt; according to Japanese folklore: cat yokai. they take the form of wild cats are live in the woods. they are also known to kill people.<br/>&gt; in this fic: like kitsune shrines, they hold certain magic to do specific things. here, the nekoma team are nekomata spirits that took the form of statues so they could form the array to protect the book. but since the boys removed the array, people have to offer it things occasionally to prevent them from being corrupted.<br/>5. Book about Demonic Cultivation<br/>&gt; in mdzs universe: okay, i can't find the exact chapter or episode but it was mentioned there that the page mo xuanyu used to let wei wuxian use his body as a sacrifice was from the book that wei wuxian wrote in his cave in the burial mounds.<br/>&gt; in this fic: also written by wwx, and it contains all kinds of summoning and dark magic and shit. VERY taboo ofc because duh it's demonic cultivation.<br/>6. Taking home ancient artifacts<br/>&gt; i'm p sure this shouldn't be allowed BUT in this fic it's needed for the plot lol so let's just say it's because there is no centralized law about exorcisms since the people believe that the exorcists are sane enough with their gods' guidance </p><p>this chapter is written by precious (cjdsjmlyx) &lt;33</p><p>for questions and clarifications, please leave them in the comments and we'll try to answer them with the best of our abilities (which really isnt much in my case but hey we're trying) or:</p><p>scream at/with us on twitter!! <a href="https://twitter.com/cirquedeluna">cirquedeluna</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lanistowei">lanistowei</a><br/>for questions, clarifications, and violent reactions, hit us (mostly solera) up on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/cirquedeluna">cc</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Miya Twin's POV (plus the mystery POV like the last chapter hmm????)</p><p>BEFORE YOU READ: CHAPTER CONTENT WARNING<br/>-deaths (almost half of this chapter so yea brace yourselves)<br/>-short but graphic descriptions of violence (it starts with "With the action, the cloth draped over him slips." and ends with "Three loud cracks, and he’s gone." if you want to skip that part)<br/>-brief mention of suicide (stop at "Rage fades into emptiness, his feet stepping backwards, moving precariously towards the edge." then continue at "This not-dream is exhausting Atsumu.")</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s cold, and it’s dark, and Atsumu feels both the coldness and the darkness permeating through his skin, making their home in his bones. He feels anxious, <em> scared </em> , even, as he walks, body aching. The grass and low branches catch at his staggering legs, and he does not have to check to see that what makes the skin on his forehead itch is dried up blood. The thing is, he knows that he’s not <em> actually </em> feeling all of these.</p><p> </p><p>Sure, his mind is telling him that he has not disconnected from his body whatsoever, but it is very similar to having a literal out-of-body experience, like watching himself through a virtual reality. Atsumu knows he is dreaming, or at least he thinks he is, because everything feels so real; he’s sure that when he wakes up, he would be convinced that this is actually a memory from the past and not just something his hyperactive mind made up.</p><p> </p><p><em> It is </em> , a voice he registers as his own yet also not says in his head. He almost jumps from surprise but he can’t control any of his limbs, not even his eyelids. It adds, <em> a memory, that is.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Well, that explains why he cannot do anything to stop his body from walking towards an ominous… <em> thing </em> suspended in the air. It alone does not pose that much of the terrorizing aura. Rather, it comes with the atmosphere around it: Atsumu is clearly in a forest, albeit a dead one. Dead in a sense that the air feels stale like death itself, the leaves and shrubs a sickening black, the branches of the trees dripping like they are doused in acid, all reacting to his movements as if they’re telling him to walk away, to run as fast as he could. He’d rather do that, of course, he has a great sense of danger and if his surroundings are not explicit enough, surely the red and black swirls of dust circulating whatever that thing is tells him much more than he needs to know.</p><p> </p><p>Without anything else to do, and to somehow calm his nerves, he talks to the voice in his head again. <em> Am I about to die? </em></p><p> </p><p>Sober and awake Atsumu would make fun of this Atsumu, talking to himself but also not really, but for now, he settles with indulging himself in this not-dream. It takes a while for the voice to answer that Atsumu is now only at least ten steps from the ‘thing’. Up close, it looks like a pendant of some sort. It’s small—probably fits in the palm of his hand, and is circular, it’s edges carved with an ancient incantation Atsumu can’t read. </p><p> </p><p><em> Death would be wishful thinking, </em> the voice finally answers, grave and painful. <em> Unfortunately, you won’t die. Not yet. </em></p><p> </p><p>Atsumu exhales at that. No escaping this, then. He just have to wait it out until he hopefully wakes up from this nightmare. His eyes are set unblinking on the thing. Another question pops up in his mind. <em> What is that? </em> He asks, trying his best to blink away the tears forming in his otherwise dried up eyes from the dust. <em> It’s your salvation and your curse. </em></p><p> </p><p>His hands reach out to the pendant, and his body screams at him to stop as his hands sting with the sensations of submerging them on an ice bath and putting them in a furnace at the same time. It hurts, but the pain on his hands is nothing compared to the same sensation burning through his chest. Both him and the body he’s currently in want to curl up in agony, but the pendant pulls him in, stronger than the gravity he no longer feels against his numbing feet. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes blur, and, <em> fuck, </em>he now understands wat the voice meant when it said he could only wish for death would save him from his misery. It feels like the blood in his veins is replaced by tiny pins, prickling his skin from the inside as his head thrums with the resentment of a million lost souls screaming, wailing at him to resolve them of their suffering. </p><p> </p><p>As his consciousness starts to slip, the voice once again comes in his ears. <em> Please bear it for a while.  </em></p><p> </p><p>The next time he comes around, there is only a faint throbbing in his head. The voices have quieted down a little, but Atsumu thinks that the 'body', at this point, has recognized it as nothing but a background noise. He tries moving his limbs in hopes of finally having some semblance of control. He still can’t, but his eyes catch on the very familiar thing he has clenched on his right hand. <em> Chenqing </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Recognition, then confusion, and finally, comprehension. <em> So this is why I’m here. </em> No voice answer him, but he doesn’t need it to. <em> Exactly ‘where’, or ‘when’, is here? </em></p><p> </p><p>He’s sitting against a tall roof, the moon above full and sinister. It’s almost blood red in color, as if sensing the events about to unfold on the earth below. A strong wind blows, fluttering the hems of his robes, masking its sounds as he moves from the roof down to a shaking figure. </p><p> </p><p>He feels a smirk tugging at his lips before a man taller and bulkier than him appears before him, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s shielding whatever creature it is from Atsumu’s view. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you really think you can protect him in my presence, Wen Zhuliu?” Atsumu surprises himself when he talked in a language he’s certain he has no knowledge of and a tongue that holds a million daggers. It’s cold, enough to make thirty soldiers tremble in their armors, but it’s <em> his </em>. It’s undoubtedly the same voice talking in his head earlier.</p><p> </p><p>The man, Wen Zhuliu, continues to shield ‘him’. “I am indebted to his father, and therefore, must do my duty of protecting Wen Chao with all my life.” At that answer, Atsumu’s grin widens, predatory and dangerous. He steps back, and Atsumu thinks that he has withdrawn from the fight, but his right hand, the one holding on tightly to Chenqing, raises to his lips. If the air five seconds ago was dangerous, now, it’s downright murderous with Chenqing’s sharp tones, each note violent and rushing. </p><p> </p><p>You know how sometimes people freeze when they are in the face of death? That moment where the flight-or-fight instinct response wouldn’t be of any help, where you can only watch as death grasps you, not even giving you the time to let your life flash before your eyes; Atsumu feels that moment coming, a swell of satisfaction licking at his hollow chest with Wen Chao’s horrifying screams. </p><p> </p><p>With the action, the cloth draped over him slips. Atsumu watches Wen Chao impassively, though it would be more accurate to say that he’s watching how the bloody mess of flesh still pitifully breathing try to fight off an obviously stronger ghost. Blood spurts from his fingerless hands and the deep gashes on his balding head in his haste, dragging what is left of his legs along the floor. Something nudges Atsumu’s waist, and if he has control over his body, he would have jumped up over the roof when he sights a ghastly child ghost chomping on two fingers, and Atsumu does not have any confirmation to know that those fingers are Wen Chao’s. ‘Atsumu’ pets the ghost child as if it’s a good dog that did a good job. It leans his rotting head against his palm, delighted. </p><p> </p><p>Wen Zhuliu isn’t given much of a chance to fight off the spirit digging it’s red nails against Wen Chao’s skin, never even given the time to worry about his master when another red ghost sweeps past him. Giving one last gurgling wail, Wen Chao’s last breath leaves him, eyes rolled back, mouth gaped wide. </p><p> </p><p>A rumbling sound distracts Atsumu. He looks up at the big hole in the roof a few meters above his head. There is a blur of a bright purple wrapping around Wen Zhuliu’s neck. Three loud cracks, and he’s gone. ‘Atsumu’ clicks his tongue in annoyance, probably in not having the last blow on the man.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know much trouble you’re in? You disappeared! For months!” the man in purple and a deep practiced scowl yells at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Jiang Cheng, I’ve been busy,” comes the confident answer, but Atsumu feels rage and… <em>longing?</em> <em>How is ‘Samu’s god related to this body? Seriously, what the hell is going on?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Wei Ying.” Something cold runs up Atsumu’s spine from the deep voice. <em> Who? </em></p><p> </p><p>His body turns towards the voice, owned by a man with a perfect face, marred slightly with a minute frown. His white robes is stark against the dark aura of the room, looking a lot like he doesn’t, <em> shouldn’t </em>belong in a place like this.</p><p> </p><p>“Hanguang-Jun.” Atsumu thinks at the same time his body mutters the words. He almost thought that he had finally gained control, only to be sucked up once again by darkness.</p><p> </p><p><em> What? </em>No voice answers him.</p><p> </p><p>The next time he comes around, he’s walking, taking in everything his eyes could as his body moves. Confusion is eating him up from the earlier encounter, and now, it looks like he’s in a similar place as he was from the start, except it’s brighter here, much more colorful and bustling with <em> life </em> as people went here and there. There is a big cave with something red glowing inside, cottages built around it. He walks on over to a patch of dirt, inspecting it with his fingers. There is a woman clad in black and red clothes crouched over the soil, as well as a kid giggling as he picks at the stray weeds. </p><p> </p><p>“The radishes still haven’t sprouted, huh?” Atsumu is taken by surprise with the contrast of the brightness in <em>his</em> voice now with earlier.</p><p> </p><p>The woman, probably one of the prettiest faces Atsumu has ever seen in his life, contorts her pristine face in a scowl. “The land here is<em> dead </em>, in case you haven’t noticed. You can’t expect it to grow quickly.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu feels something tug at Chenqing. He looks down into a pair of beady eyes staring back up at him, the kid’s mouth set on chewing at the instrument. He tuts but obediently lets go to let the boy play with it, even as he scolds, “A-Yuan, Chenqing is not food. Go inside and ask your grandma if you’re starving.”</p><p> </p><p>The kid—A-Yuan, isn’t it?—ignores him, lying back on the dirt with drool pooling around the end of Chenqing and his chin. His head shakes in fond exasperation. Before he even had the chance to coo at the absolutely adorable scene playing before him, darkness spirals around him once more.</p><p> </p><p><em> This… this scene isn’t as bad as the first two, </em> he says suspiciously, bracing himself for the catch. <em> The cruelest thing in life is living long enough to watch the place that holds the memories closest to your heart turn into a place that holds the most painful ones, </em>the voice answers softly.</p><p> </p><p>He blinks. One second, he’s plunged deep in darkness; the next, he’s standing before a bloodbath. Several men wearing differently uniformed robes fight against ghouls and the likes. It’s chaotic, as expected from a battle, and Atsumu’s head is pounding as bad as it had been in the first part of this not-dream. The voices are back with their screaming, but Atsumu feels nothing but resignation.</p><p> </p><p>His head turns to the left. There, he sees familiar makeshift cottages, the small patch of soil, and, <em> dear gods </em>, even more familiar faces, the ones he’s seen bustling about hanged at the archway that leads into the clearing. The pain from the torture when he touched the pendant is nothing compared to seeing those faces permanently plastered on a face of horror, of fear. Rage fades into emptiness, his feet stepping backwards, moving precariously towards the edge. </p><p> </p><p>He feels the ground beneath him one last time before another step puts him into freefall. The air feels cold and loud, but it’s acceptance that Atsumu focuses his attention on. Before the thud and the cracks, he’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>This not-dream is exhausting Atsumu. Just as he’d assume he’s already going to wake up, a man emerges from the darkness. He has long hair tied up messily in a red ribbon, black robes accentuated with the same shade of red. He looks nothing like him, but Atsumu feels, Atsumu <em> knows </em>, he’s looking right at himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice aesthetics,” Atsumu blurts out. His mouth really has no brakes, even at times like these. Thankfully, the man only grins playfully, as if he’s expecting Atsumu to say exactly just that.</p><p> </p><p>The man nods once, black eyes almost looking like they’re glowing red. It wouldn’t really be a surprise at this moment though, but whether or not it’s real is the least of his concerns. “Don’t you have any questions you want to ask?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu hums, eyes still locked onto the man. “Why’re ya showin’ me all this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you asked.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re my god, aren’t ya?” Atsumu asks again. Better grab the opportunity he’s given even though he’s not sure he’ll remember any of this afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>The man tilts his head in an eerily familiar way, similar to Atsumu when he’s confused or contemplating. “Not… no, not really. I haven’t ascended like the gods with reincarnates.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I’m your reincarnate, no?” Atsumu pushes.</p><p> </p><p>A nod. “I suppose so, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“What took ya so long to talk to me?” </p><p> </p><p>Pain flashes quickly in the man’s eyes. “I talk to you every night. It’s just… you forget,” he sighs heavily, backing it up with a humorless laugh. “You’re just as forgetful as me, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is infinitely intrigued. “Every night?” At the man’s smile, he adds, “will I forget this one too?”</p><p> </p><p>The man shrugs, but there is unmistakable confidence there. “I dunno. That’s up to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu groans. He’s not in the mood for these games. “Seriously, man. Work with me here,” he whines. </p><p> </p><p>He sighs tiredly. “Fine. Maybe. I’m serious when I said that it’s up to you, but I have a good feeling the most important ones would retain. I was weak, but with Chenqing with you, I gained enough strength to show you all of <em> those. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu hums, satisfied. He suddenly remembers something he saw earlier. “How are you related to Osamu’s god and… Hanguang-Jun?”</p><p> </p><p>There is a long pause, not one of them looking away. “Jiang Cheng is—I’m—but also—Zhan—most trusted—yeah?” </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu frowns at that. Did he just buffer in real life like an exceptionally bad reception. “Come again?”</p><p> </p><p>The man purses his lips. “I said—” but he is cut off once again by the buffering. His image flickers, blinking between opaque and not, becoming more and more transparent with each second. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” comes from the both of them at the same time. Atsumu coughs a short laugh at the ridiculousness of it. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m wakin’ up, aren’t I?” he asks rhetorically. </p><p> </p><p>The man simply nods. “I don’t have—have much power in me yet. It’s been too long—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright, I’ll find ya again tomorrow night,” he says, assuring himself more. “I can do that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Shaking his head, his fading face falls. “I’m not—sure.”</p><p> </p><p>Just as the last of the man’s image goes away with the darkness, Atsumu reaches out. “Wait, who are you again?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wei—”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Atsumu! Fuckin’ wake the fuck up!”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu slaps Atsumu’s face harder. It would surely bruise later, and they would fight about it, but it’s more important to wake him up. More urgent, as he’s watching his brother’s face drain of blood, shaking violently. His skin is almost blue, looking closer like a corpse.</p><p> </p><p><em> No, Osamu, snap out of it, </em> he scolds himself, raising his hand in a fist, determined to plant it into Atsumu’s stomach if that would be what would rouse him.</p><p> </p><p>“Motherfucker!” Atsumu screeches. Osamu slumps back, relying on his arms to carry his weight from relief. Atsumu looks very disoriented, glancing around every corner of the room as if he thinks he’s still dreaming. He glances at his soaking pillows, then at the glasses of water ready on his bedside table.</p><p>“Didya just… attempt to drown me to wake me up?” he asks, or croaks, his voice scratchy.</p><p> </p><p>“No, that’s entirely yers,” Osamu snorts, masking his relief with his teasing.</p><p> </p><p>“Gross,” they both say, Atsumu turning them into the other side. He makes a grabby hand, Rintarou quickly handing him the glass of water. Color comes back rapidly to his face, and after a few minutes of hysterical panting, Atsumu is back to looking like the same shitstain jerkass fuckface that he is.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the shitstain jerkass fuckface, fuck you,” Atsumu seethes but it lacks the bite it normally would have, apparently hearing Osamu’s thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>“Those aren’t even… Whatever,” Rintarou gives up. “Now, care to tell us whatever the fuck happened in your dream? Or nightmare?” Osamu mentally thanks Rintarou for asking the same question he has in mind. He’s lost all energy with his earlier panic to inquire anything. <em> At least he’s safe now. </em></p><p> </p><p>Atsumu’s nose twitches slightly before his back thunks back to his pillows. He looks up at his room’s ceiling and Osamu has half a mind to stop himself from looking up as well, hoping that the ceiling holds all the answers in the world. </p><p> </p><p>“Remember when I told ya I felt somethin’ when I played Chenqing back at that Nekoma gym?” he starts.</p><p> </p><p>Yesterday, as the three of them sat half-awake around a table of a fast food chain in Tokyo at ass-o-clock in the evening to recuperate from the absence of food for nearly twelve hours, Rintarou and Osamu couldn’t help but ask about what exactly happened when he got separated from them. </p><p> </p><p>“I dunno, it hurts just thinkin’ about it,” Atsumu had said around a mouthful of fries, slumping further into his seat. The day’s events were catching up to all of them, but they all knew Atsumu has had it harder. “Literally it just came to me. I’m shit at musical instruments, ya both know that. It’s weird as fuck. But ever since i brought it home after that mission in the museum, I always had this feeling of familiarity, like things finally clickin’ into place. I can’t even remember everythin’ after the first few notes, just that there were a lot of voices. They’re all callin’ out to me or some shit like that, it’s creepy.”</p><p> </p><p>Being an exorcist is already weird as it is. Atsumu just had to make his life much more dramatic by being associated with a name that strikes fear, disgust, and admiration, depending on the person you ask.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu wipes at his forehead dripping with cold sweat. “I remember before sleepin’ that I was thinkin’ of that, of Chenqing, and then…” he trails off, closing his eyes hard as if to chase the last memories of his dream. “The dream, it’s about the damn flute. I can’t remember much now, but there are a few fragments here and there.” Atsumu shivers, eyes opening as he bore holes into his blanket with the intensity of his stare. Osamu shivers as well, sensing the unease coming off from his brother.</p><p> </p><p>“What’re they about?” Osamu pushes. </p><p> </p><p>He grasps at his head, either because of pain or because he’s trying to think a little too hard. Maybe both. “First, there’s this weird iron thingy in the middle of a really weird forest. I remember hurtin’ all over. Then, I…I <em> killed </em> someone. From how it looked, I feel like it wasn’t the first time I did that,” at that, he looks straight up at Osamu. Osamu feels goosebumps rising throughout his entire body as his body is locked in its place with the grave stare. “Yer god—Jiang Cheng, he was there. He killed someone as well. But the weirdest part of that is Hanguang-Jun.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu looks behind him, seeing Jiang Cheng, eyes wide open in shock. Rintarou on Atsumu’s other side looks both confused and horrified, trying his best to make sense of what’s happening.</p><p> </p><p>If Atsumu is confused with the look on their faces, he chooses to ignore them as he continues. “And then suddenly, I was back at that weird forest, except now, there were other people. Life seemed hard, but I think they’re doin’ well,” he smiles at that, brightening his features for a deceptive moment. His smile drops like a heavy rock, settling amongst everyone in the room, immortal or otherwise, with his next statement. </p><p> </p><p>“Then it warps into a battlefield. All those people, t-they died.” His lips wobbles, and Osamu’s throat constricts with the crack in Atsumu’s voice. It pains him to see him like this. “All of them, hanged, they’re swayin’ in the wind like rags… there was even a kid before! I-I <em> know </em>his name, but I can’t remember—‘Samu, I don’t know if he died with ‘em as well!” Atsumu is sobbing violently now, his bed jerking with every harsh sob.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu is quick to wrap an arm around Atsumu, Rintarou following suit. The hug doesn’t loosen, not one bit, as they wait for Atsumu to calm down. Osamu hates moments like these; without anything to do, helpless, <em> useless. </em></p><p> </p><p>Once he’s calmed down enough, Osamu offers another glass of water to Atsumu. His eyelids are furiously swollen now, even his nose is wet and red. Osamu scrunches up his face in disgust and on any other day, this would be a perfect opportunity to tease his twin. As it is, Osamu is taken with the seriousness of the situation, which brought him to ask the question: “Has he finally introduced himself to ya?”</p><p> </p><p>The silence that answers is accompanied by three different stares: Atsumu, who looks the very definition of confused; Rintarou, with expression clearing with the implication in Osamu’s voice; and Jiang Cheng, anger fuming off him as it manifests into the purple lightning clenched in his finger. </p><p> </p><p>It is Atsumu who gathers his ability to speak first. “Hanguang-jun called me a name, and I asked him before I woke up. Wuyong? Wiyan? I don’t… Ugh, this shit’s frustratin’!” Atsumu groans as he clasps the sides of his head. He snaps his head back at Osamu. “How did ya… Osamu, be honest. Is there somethin’ ya know that I don’t?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu is not given a chance to open his mouth when Jiang Cheng, veins very visibly close to popping, comes near them, looking at Atsumu like he has just witnessed him murder his entire family. No one else could hear or see Jiang Cheng though, and in the others’ eyes, Osamu looks like he’s frozen in time, eyes fixed on somewhere by Atsumu’s foot. It takes him a few seconds to process the shock of his god preventing him for some reason. </p><p> </p><p>“No?” he asks, not even bothering to mask the disbelieving tone he had never used on him. “What d’ya mean ‘no’?” he adds, getting more and more furious as Jiang Cheng continues to look at Atsumu like he’s the accumulation of all the scums on Earth. <em> No one, absolutely no one, is allowed to look at his brother like that. </em></p><p> </p><p>Atsumu and Rintarou share a concerned look as Osamu seethes. They know it must be something that concerns Jiang Cheng, but it would be nice to be included in the conversation. Osamu has never looked at anyone like that before, his face contorted so unnaturally, marring his usual apathetic features.</p><p> </p><p>But Jiang Cheng is still a god, a powerful and egoistic one at that, and he meets Osamu’s glare dead-on. Osamu almost cowers but stands his ground. “No, you would not tell him whose memories those belonged to. You would not tell him how I am a part of it. You would not tell him that <em> name </em>,” Jiang Cheng hisses, spitting the last word with venom as if to say that it’s final, and Osamu has no say to it. For all of Jiang Cheng’s temper, he has never lowered his voice to a growl to talk to Osamu before. It is enough to make him back down, but the glare is set.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t get how the other gods put up with you,” Osamu grumbles as he stands abruptly, making his chair skid along Atsumu’s floor. He walks out, but as he nears the room’s doorway, he inclines his head partially towards Atsumu. “We’ll talk about this later.” <em> Later </em>, but it surely wouldn’t be as soon as Atsumu wants it to be.</p><p> </p><p>Leaning against the wall, Osamu waits outside Atsumu’s room. He hears shuffling, two hushed voices speaking, before finally, the door opens and out comes Rintarou. </p><p> </p><p>“What was that?” </p><p> </p><p>Osamu smirks at Rintarou’s bluntness. Thankfully, he knows exactly how to lift up Osamu’s mood. It doesn’t last long enough though, because in an instant, Jiang Cheng has already manifested, arms crossed as if he’s the only one that should have a sour mood.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, <em> what was that?” </em> he directs the question to his god. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes at the attitude his reincarnate is showing him. Osamu immediately cuts in as he opens his mouth, secretly reveling in the annoyance it brought his god. “We agreed before not to tell him since he doesn’t even remember shit himself, but now that he’s seen <em> his </em> memories, doesn’t Atsumu deserve to know?” he adds, his earlier fury bubbling up to the surface again.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, honestly, I don’t get it, too. Aren’t we supposed to help Atsumu get acquainted with his god?” Rintarou supplies. He tilts his head to his left. “Huaisang shares the same sentiments.”</p><p> </p><p>Jiang Cheng scoffs. “That is exactly why we can not tell Atsumu anything about <em> that brat </em> . He did not ascend like all of us. He… <em> he died </em> ,” he whispers the last phrase, Osamu almost doesn’t pick it up if not for his connection to the immortal. The pained expression clears immediately, standing upright as if his last words were only a slip-up. “Besides, if even the <em> ever-benevolent </em> Hanguang-Jun never mentioned it,” an eye-roll,  “then maybe there are still risks we can not overlook. He practiced evil cultivation, it would not come as a surprise that Atsumu is turning as wicked as him.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu stops in relaying everything to Rintarou at the implication of Jiang Cheng’s latter statement. His expression grows dark, darker than it had been earlier that Rintarou steps back in surprise, just a second late in placing his arm around Osamu’s tense shoulders as he lashes out. </p><p> </p><p>“Atsumu would <em> never </em>!” Osamu yells, Rintarou wincing at his side with the volume. Atsumu has just closed his eyes again when Rintarou walked out of the room. Now, he’s sure he’s wide awake again.</p><p> </p><p>Jiang Cheng looks down at Osamu, challenging his glare with a vicious smirk. “And how are you so sure of that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because he’s my brother!”</p><p> </p><p>“Wei Wuxian used to be mine, too!”</p><p> </p><p>Even though Rintarou can only hear Osamu’s side of the conversation, he chokes on the sharp take the air has dropped into. He tenses as Osamu’s entire body slackens, and, <em> oh no </em>, he’s only seen this once, and if he had no idea what would come next, he would not have been able to stop Osamu from lunging, intentions of strangling his immortal clear as day.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu struggles in Rintarou’s grip for a bit before he decides on a new tactic. If he can’t reach Jiang Cheng physically, he would just use his words. </p><p> </p><p>“So, that’s what’s it’s all ‘bout, huh? Yer still fuckin’ miserably bitter, after all these centuries, all because he looked well after he suddenly dipped on yer dependent ass,” he levels Jiang Cheng’s gaze that’s getting grimmer. A part of Osamu shrinks, telling him to stop because what’s he’s doing is extremely rude, but the larger part of him rides on this temporary confidence. “No, don’t look at me like that. Y’know I’m right.”</p><p> </p><p>Before Jiang Cheng has the chance to bite back a retort, Osamu holds up his hand. <em> He’s so going to regret being this vulgar later. </em> “Sorry, but I won’t take any shit from ya right now,” he turns his back to Jiang Cheng, taking Rintarou’s hand in his clammy one, ready to drop his final blow. “I won’t mention anythin’ to Tsumu, but only ‘cause I agree with Hanguang-Jun. I won’t give a single fuck if ya never show me yer presence ever after this,” he walks away with Rintarou in tow, looking directly at Jiang Cheng’s extremely agitated face as he spits, “but I hope there’s enough space in yer brain filled with pride that I am not you, and most especially, Atsumu is not <em> him </em>. Don’t ever forget that.”</p><p> </p><p>Now, within the confines of his own room, it’s only Rintarou’s grounding hold that he holds himself up. Osamu has long since lost Jiang Cheng’s presence, knowing that the other has immediately gone back up to the heavenly realms. Rintarou guides them both to lie down on Osamu’s bed, not bothering to turn on the lights. With all these events, Rintarou knows they’re all tired and would prefer to just sleep, <em> thank you very much </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You got a lot of balls, threatening your god like that,” Rintarou says, carding his fingers through Osamu’s hair. Osamu chuckles weakly, leaning into the touch as he feels all his muscles unwind.</p><p> </p><p>He stills, letting Rintarou continue with his ministrations. “Holy shit, I did that,” he mutters under his breath, mind finally clearing. Vibrations travel from Rintarou’s chest to where Osamu’s shoulder is perched from his laugh. Osamu has a small smile of his own. </p><p> </p><p>Cuddling like this, simmered in darkness and comfortable silence, has always been a part of their nightly routine, among other not-so-innocent ones. It should be just like any other night, but both of them know their brains are working a little too well for sleep to fall upon them.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu pushes himself off a little, looking up at Rintarou who has his eyes closed. “Hey,” he calls. Rintarou hums. Osamu waits until Rintarou opens his eyes, his breath hitching in his chest  as he stares right at those sharp yellow eyes, as beautifully hypnotizing as when it first locked on his own gray ones nearly a decade ago. He feels the same pull he’s always felt, and like clockwork, he indulges himself as he presses his lips against Rintarou’s.</p><p> </p><p>They kiss slowly, languidly, taking up all the time in the world. It feels like it’s only been a few minutes when they separate, the intimacy too short for Osamu’s liking, but the first light of the day is already filtering through his blinds. Rintarou huffs at Osamu’s mouth when he takes a double look at the alarm clock. He gathers Osamu in his arms again, adjusting his position to catch what little sleep he can before the day officially starts.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Osamu whispers against his collarbones.</p><p> </p><p>It should have been too soft, but of course, <em> of course </em>, Rintarou picks it up. That’s how amazingly perceptive he is, especially with anything that concerns Osamu. He wraps his arms tighter around him. “Hm? What for?”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu yawns. “Dunno. For everythin’. For always bein’ there for me, and for ‘Tsumu too. For knowin’ exactly what to say, what to do when I need it.” He presses a chaste kiss against Rintarou’s skin, a kiss against the crown of his head is its reply. “For existin’, and choosin’ to spend yer life with the mess that comes with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Rintarou’s heartbeat is loud as it’s aligned with Osamu’s chest, their hearts synching in their pounding. “I don’t have much choice in existing,” he starts, Osamu giggling. He snorts a short laugh of his own before he adds, “but with living, I’d like the messier one better than a life without you in it.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s been years since they’ve started this, whatever <em> this </em> entails. Osamu doesn’t mind not putting any labels on it though, because the both of them are genuinely content and happy with just being by each other. However, the blush that comes when genuine feelings are shared out loud between the two of them is the same as it is when he first admitted to the other that he very much likes the idea of kissing him, and it would be excellent if he’d allow him.</p><p> </p><p>“Sap,” Osamu says in reply, hiding the heat creeping up his face with Rintarou’s honesty.</p><p> </p><p>“You started it,” Rintarou mumbles, placing another kiss on Osamu’s temple. </p><p> </p><p>Silence blankets them after that. Osamu is starting to think that Rintarou has already fallen asleep, but then he says, “Wei Wuxian is really trying his hardest now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Osamu agrees. He thinks back to all those days where he finds Atsumu alone, to those schoolmates that had nothing better to do but make up stories and gossip about him, to those times when Atsumu gets drunk enough and demands his god to show up. “Whether it’s ‘cause of Chenqing or not, we still have to be careful. We don’t know what would happen to him if he did get fully connected to Wei Wuxian.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” Rintarou hums, snuggling his face against Osamu’s hair. “Are you okay now?”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu is taken aback by the sudden question. He’s been too worried about his brother to properly assess himself. He totally lost his cool earlier, but he feels no regret in calling out Jiang Cheng. “I’m annoyed mostly, that he keeps thinking I’m him. But other than that, I’m fine,” he answers honestly.</p><p> </p><p>“Good. Let’s try to sleep again,” Rintarou suggests. Osamu feels his breath even out, but he knows as his consciousness slips that Rintarou waited until Osamu slept before he rests himself.</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Atsumu, as expected, was persistently asking them about the night’s events. Two is still better than one though, and Rintarou and Osamu have had all their lives practiced with the art of dodging Atsumu’s questions that after a week or two, it has all slipped his mind. They went back to simple exorcisms around Hyogo, Atsumu avoided playing Chenqing but never letting go of it. For many weeks, the Hyogo trio were on a roll, not one incident meeting the fate of the Tokyo cousins as they went on with their usual business as well.</p><p> </p><p>That is, until two fated souls meddle, rolling the ball that starts a chaotic chain reaction.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. We are so fucked.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no. Calm down. We can still work with this.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is a bad idea.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, calm down. Trust me, this’ll work.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing is going according to the plan. People, innocent ones, could get seriously hurt. You were almost seriously hurt!”</p><p> </p><p>“But I’m not, right? I’m still here, and honestly, there’s not much we can do from here except play it out.”</p><p> </p><p>“No! Your plan is shit. Leave me the fuck alone!”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, leave then! See if I give a shit!”</p><p> </p><p>The pair walks away from each other, the lightless moon over their head the only one not oblivious to how much trouble these mortals are all in.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>heyyy it's precious again!! i'm really sorry for the delay, the second semester has just started and almost all profs act like they own us :DD</p><p>anyways, if u skipped the cw parts, basically it's wen chao's and wen zhuliu's deaths courtesy of wei wuxian and jiang cheng, and the other one is wei wuxian's death (as was portrayed in cql)</p><p>let us hear your thoughts on the story so far!! kindly leave kudos if u liked it too, they greatly motivate us &lt;3</p><p>scream at/with us on twitter!! <a href="https://twitter.com/cirquedeluna">cirquedeluna</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lanistowei">lanistowei</a><br/>for questions, clarifications, and violent reactions, hit us (mostly solera) up on <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/cirquedeluna">cc</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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